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FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/miscellpoeOOkebl 


Poems  by  the  Rey.  J.  Keble, 


'\< 


MISCELLANEOUS 


POEMS 


Rev.  J.  Keble,  M.  A. 


Ficar  of  Hursley, 


NEW  YORK: 

POTT    &     AMERY, 

Cooper  Union,     Fourth  Avenue, 

1869. 


^^^  TROW  &  S^Vt^ 

Book  ^VIanufactui^ing  po. 

^^4S&  50  Greene  St,,^^ 

NEW  YORK. 


PREFACE. 


A  GOOD  many  of  the  Poems  contained  in  this 
^  volume  have  already  appeared  in  print  in  various 
collections  of  poetry. 

The  Ode  with  which  the  volume  opens  was  composed 
by  Mr.  Keble  as  Professor  of  Poetry,  on  the  occasion 
of  the  Installation  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  as 
Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Oxford  in  the  year 
1834.  It  was  set  to  music  by  the  Professor  of  Music, 
Dr.  Crotch,  and  performed  in  the  Theatre  in  Oxford  at 
the  Encaenia  in  that  year. 

The  next  forty-five  poems  were  contributed  to  the 
Lyra  ApostoUca^  in  which  they  are  distinguished  by  the 
signature  y.  To  these  is  added  a  translation  of  an 
ancient  Greek  Hymn  of  the  first  or  second  century. 


VI  PREFACE. 

which  (as  I  learn  from  the  best  authority)  has  acciden 
tally  been  printed  in  several  editions  of  that  book  with 
a  different  signature. 

The  three  H}anns  for  Emigrants,  for  use  at  Midnight, 
Morning,  and  Evening,  were  written  at  the  request  of 
his  friend  Sir  Frederick  Rogers,  at  that  time  Emigra- 
tion Commissioner.  They  were  printed  in  the  first 
edition  of  the  "  Prayers  for  Emigrants,"  which  he  had 
compiled,  but  were  subsequently  omitted,  perhaps  as 
being  thought  not  sufficiently  simple  for  the  class  of 
people  for  whose  use  the  Book  of  Prayers  was  chiefly 
intended. 

Then  follow  four  poems  from  the  "  Child's  Christian 
Year,"  and  four  of  which  have  been  printed  in  the 
"  Salisbury  Hymnal." 

Mr.  Keble  offered  other  contributions  to  the  "  Salis- 
bury Hymnal "  besides  these  four,  several  of  which  are 
printed  in  this  volume.  They  are  mostly  translations 
of  ancient  Church  Hymns.  Among  these  are  some 
which  are,  I  believe,  wholly  translated  by  hims^elf. 
These  are  "Nocte  surgentes,"  "Nunc  sancte,"  "Rector 


PREFACE.  Vll 

potens,"   "Rerum    Deus,"  "  Salvete   flores,"   "  Cultor 
Dei  memento,"  "  O,  Deus,  ego  amo  Te,"  and  "Alleluia, 
dulce  carmen."     Others  are  altered,  so  largely  as  to  be 
in  fact  new  translations,  from  other  versions,   partic- 
ularly  those   of  Dr.   Neale,   Mr.    Copeland,    and  the 
"  Hymnal  Noted."     It  was  thought  by  the  compilers  of 
Hymnal  that  the  extreme  faithfulness  of  these  transla- 
tions gave  them  an  air  of  stiffness,  which  made  them 
less  fit  for  congregational  singing  ;  they  were  therefore 
omitted  from  that  publication.      But  in  a  collection  of 
his  own  poems  it  seems  well  to  print  some  of  them,  as 
exhibiting  in  a  remarkable  degreee  his  power  of  vigo- 
rous and  exact  translation,  in  respect  of  compositions 
of  which  extremely  condensed  thought,  and  profound 
acquaintance  with  Holy  Scripture  are  the  chief  charac- 
teristics.    Any  person  who  will  compare  these  versions 
with  those  on  which  they  are  confessedly  framed,  will, 
I   think,  not  fail  to  recognize  these  qualities  in  them. 
Of  a  few  well-known  modern  hymns  he  also  offered 
variations  ;  but  these  it  has  been  thought  better  not  to 
print.     One,  however,  I  add  as  a  specimen  : — 


VIU  PREFACE. 


"  The  Lord  magnified  Joshua." — Joshua  iv.  14. 

"  Guide  us,  Thou  whose  name  is  Saviour, 

Pilgrims  in  the  barren  land, 
We  are  weak,  and  Thou  Almighty, 

Hold  us  with  Thy  strong  right-hand, 
As  in  Egypt, 

As  upon  the  Red  Sea  strand. 

"  Let  the  cloud  and  fire  supernal 

Day  and  night  before  us  go  : 
Lead  us  to  the  rock  and  fountain 

Whence  the  living  waters  flow : 
Bread  of  Heaven, 

Feed  us  till  no  want  we  know. 

"  When  we  touch  the  cold,  dark  river, 

Cleave  for  us  the  swelling  tide  ; 
Through  the  flood,  and  through  the  whirlpool 

Let  Thine  Ark  our  footsteps  guide  : 
Jesus,  lead  us. 

Land  us  safe  on  Canaan's  side. 

"  Praise  the  Father,  God  of  Heaven, 
Him  who  reigns  supreme  on  high ; 
Praise  the  Son,  for  sinners  given, 
E'en  to  suffer  and  to  die  ; 

Praise  the  Spirit, 
Guiding  us  so  lovingly. 

Amen." 


PREFACE.  IX 


The  original  of  the  above,  fro77t  the  '•'■Book  of  Praise  '' 

"  Guide  me,  O  Thou  great  Jehovah  ; 

Pilgrim  through  this  barren  land  ; 
I  am  weak,  but  Thou  art  mighty  ; 

Hold  me  with  Thy  powerful  hand  ! 
Bread  of  Heaven  !  Bread  of  Heaven ! 

Feed  me  now  and  evermore. 

"  Open  now  the  crj^stal  Fountain, 
Whence  the  healing  streams  do  flow  ; 

Let  the  fiery,  cloudy  pillar 

Lead  me  all  my  journey  through  ; 

Strong  Deliverer  !  strong  Deliverer  ! 
Be  Thou  still  my  strength  and  shield  ! 

"  When  I  tread  the  verge  of  Jordan, 

Bid  my  anxious  fears  subside  ; 
Death  of  death,  and  Hell's  destruction, 
Land  me  safe  on  Canaan's  side  ; 

Songs  of  praises,  songs  of  praises, 
I  will  ever  give  to  Thee." 

Willia?n  Williams,  "^^77^- 

Beautiful  as  it  is  in  the  original,  it  will  be  readily 
seen  what  a  rich  and  solemn  colouring  is  thrown  over 
it  by  the  deep  Scriptural  knowledge,  and  the  exact 
doctrine  of  the  poet. 


X  ,  PREFACE. 

The  remaining  poems  in  the  volume  are  arranged, 
as  nearly  as  can  be  ascertained,  in  the  order  of  the 
years  in  which  they  were  composed.  This  will  account 
for  a  considerable  mixture  of  subjects  in  them ;  but  it 
will  also  throw  no  small  light  upon  the  great  general 
consistency  of  his  character  from  early  youth  to  mature 
old  age.*  For  as  there  was  a  singular  maturity  of 
sacred  thought  in  his  earliest  writings,  so  was  there  a 
sweet  freshness — almost  what  might  be  called  boyish- 
ness— of  feeling  which  lasted  on  and  is  visible  in  those 
which  were  written  last.  It  is  not  improbable  that  he 
would  in  his  later  life  have  withheld  some  of  the  earlier 
poems  from  publication,  nor  that  expressions  may  be 
found  here  and  there,  breathing  a  somewhat  different 
tone  from  that  which  he  would  have  adopted  in  after 
years.  Such  light  varieties,  however,  if  such  there  are, 
are  but  the  true  detail  of  the  working  of  an  uniform 
and  consistent  spirit  in  the  course  of  many  years  ;  and 
it  is  with  the  view  of  shewing  this,  that  the  exact  dates 
of  tjie  several  pieces  are  added  whenever  they  can  be 
certainly  ascertained. 

The  poem  on  the  Annunciation  is,  it  will  be  seen,  in 


PREFACE.  XI 

great  measure  the  same  as  that  which  is  printed  on  the 
same  subject  in  the  "  Christian  Year."  There  is  no 
doubt  that  it  was  -written  in  the  first  place  as  here 
given,  and  on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  his  own 
mother  in  June,  1823.  But  in  its  original  form,  it 
came  too  close  to  his  own  personal  and  most  sacred 
feelings  to  allow  him  to  print  it ;  so  omitting  the 
concluding  stanzas,  and  substituting  others,  he  gave  it 
a  more  general  turn,  and  fitted  it  for  its  place  in  the 
"  Christian  Year."  I  trust  that  it  is  no  improper  un- 
veiling of  those  sacred  feelings  to  print  the  poem  as 
originally  written,  now  that  he  is  gone.  Those  con- 
cluding stanzas  are  not  only  in  themselves  eminently 
beautifully,  and  remarkably  expressive  of  the  sweetness 
and  affection,  and  of  the  tenderness  of  conscience 
which  characterized  him  in  all  his  life,  but  they  also 
reflect  a  new  and  true  light  upon  the  train  of  thought 
in  the  earlier  part  of  the  poem,  and  render  intelligible 
expressions  in  the  first  stanza,  which,  as  it  stands  in 
the  "  Christian  Year,"  need  explanation. 

The   poem   entitled   "  Mother   out   of  Sight "   was 
written  for  the  Lyra  Innocentiufn,  but  withheld    from 


Xll  PREFACE. 

publication  at  the  time,  with  his  consent  but  against 
his  wish,  at  the  earnest  request  of  some  of  his  dearest 
friends.  The  reasons  which  were  sufficient  to  cause  it 
to  be  withheld  then  do  not  exist  any  longer,  and  inas- 
much as  he  did  not  himself  disapprove  of  its  being 
printed,  and  that  different  considerations  may  be 
allowed  to  enter  into  the  questions  of  contemporary 
and  posthumous  publication,  I  have  thought  it  not 
wrong  to  publish  it.  It  has  recently  been  printed  at 
length  in  Sir  John  Coleridge's  memoir,  and  a  part  of  it 
was  quoted  a  few  years  since  in  the  "  Month,"  a 
Roman  Catholic  periodical.  It  belongs  to  "  troublous 
days  of  anguish  and  rebuke,"  and  if  in  some  part  it 
seems  to  indicate  any  doubt  of  the  position  of  the 
Church  of  England  as  part  of  the  Catholic  Church  of 
Christ,  the  remainder  of  it,  and  his  own  most  loyal  life 
till  death  as  a  Priest  in  the  Anglican  communion,  are 
abundantly  sufficient  to  shew  that  that  doubt,  if  it  ever 
existed  at  all,  was  fully  and  practically  satisfied.  Let 
it  be  allowed  to  one — who  had  the  honour  of  his 
intimate  friendship  during  the  last  thirty  years  of  his 
life,  and  was  in  habits  of  the  closest  and  most  confi- 


PREFACE.  Xlll 

dential  communication  with  him  during  the  anxious 
times  referred  to — to  bear  the  clearest  and  strongest 
witness  to  the  fact  that  in  the  midst  of  great  and  sore  dis- 
tress he  never  (not,  I  verily  believe,  for  a  single  mo- 
ment) entertained  the  idea  of  deserting  the  commu- 
nion in  which  he  was  baptized,  or,  with  all  his  true  and 
filial  yearning  for  Catholic  union,  felt  less  than  extreme 
repugnance  to  the  unscriptural  doctrines  and  claims  of 
the  Church  of  Rome. 

Among  the  earlier  poems  will  be  found  two  or  three 
copies  of  love-verses,  bearing  the  date  of  1812,  when 
he  was  in  his  twentieth  year.  These  have  been  printed 
partly  on  account  of  their  own  beauty,  and  partly  as 
furnishing  a  real  trait  of  himself  when  he  was  a  young 
man.  For  he  had  a  singularly  loving  spirit,  and  to  him 
may  well  be  transferred  the  beautiful  words  which 
in  one  of  the  poems  of  this  volume  he  applies  to 
Petrarca,  for  he  too 

"  Chanted  his  hermit-hymn  to  Heaven  and  Love, 
Soft  and  severe  :  for  Piety  had  framed 
The  melody,  and  every  wilder  chord 
Was  tempered  to  her  solemn  undersong. 


XIV  PREFACE. 


So  Love  seemed  what  he  is, — a  spirit  devout, 
Owning  God  most  in  His  most  beauteous  work." 


Two  odes  also,  written  in  early  life,  are  inserted  in 
their  places :  the  one  referring  to  the  rising  of  the 
Portuguese  in  1808,  the  other  to  the  battles  in  the 
Pyrenees  in  the  year  18 13.  They  shew  that  though  the 
prevailing  character  of  his  poetry  is  one  of  gentleness, 
yet  t^iere  was  in  him  a  fire  of  feeling  and  expression 
which  might  have  found  noble  utterance  in  more  secular 
and  stirring  poetry,  if  he  had  not  deliberately  preferred 
to  "  abide  where  the  holy  shadow  lay,  where  Heaven 
his  lot  had  cast." 

There  is,  as  is  inevitable  in  a  volume  consisting  in 
great  degree  of  "  Remains,"  a  fragmentar}^  and  incom- 
plete character,  not  only  in  the  collection  in  general, 
but  also  in  several  of  the  pieces  contained  in  it.  This, 
however,  does  not  seem  to  form  a  sufficient  reason  for 
keeping  such  pieces  back.  Indeed,  in  this,  as  in 
various  other  respects,  there  is  much  difference  between 
the  grounds  for  selecting  poetry  for  publication  during 


PREFACE.  XV 

an  author's  lifetime,  and  after  his  death.  While  he  is 
alive  and  can  make  his  own  selection,  it  is  due  to  the 
public  and  to  himself  that  he  should  put  forward  only 
such  pieces  as  are  finished  to  the  utmost  of  his  power, 
and  express  his  thought  most  exactly  in  the  form  in 
which  he  desires  it  to  be  seen  and  understood.  But 
when  he  is  gone,  and  the  picture  of  his  mind  and 
genius  is  to  be  completed,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  from 
the  scattered  traits  which  his  posthumous  papers  fur- 
nish, it  would  be  a  great  sacrifice  of  the  truth  and 
genuineness  of  the  portrait  if  pieces  were  excluded, 
either  because,  written  at  different  periods  of  his  life, 
they  might  show  some  diiference  in  expression  or  sen- 
timent, or  because  they  were  wanting  in  the  last  finish 
which  he  would  have  given  to  them  if  he  had  printed 
them  himself  Some  of  the  most  lifelike  of  these  traits 
are  furnished  in  the  present  instance  by  such  fragments, 
thrown  off  at  a  heat,  as  it  were,  and  never  returned  to 
again,  but  full  of  the  sparkles  of  true  Christian  gold, 
which  it  would  be  a  real  loss  to  lose.  The  precious 
treasure  which  many  Christian  hearts  feel  that  they 
possess  is  the  "  Christian  Year,"  does  not  depend  upon 


XVI  PREFACE. 

the  completeness  or  the  finish  of  the  separate  poems. 
It  is  often,  I  apprehend,  a  stanza,  a  line,  even  a  single 
expression  which  dwells  upon  the  memory,  and  leads 
men  to  bless  God  for  the  help  and  comfort  which  He 
has  given  them  in  the  sweet  writings  of  the  Christian 
poet. 

It  is  the  characteristic  of  Keble's  poetry  to  be  in  a 
very  high  degree  the  reflex  of  himself.  It  is  probable 
that  (except  perhaps  in  the  Installation  Ode,  which  was 
required  of  him  in  his  office  of  Professor  of  Poetry)  he 
never  sat  down  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  writing 
poetry  as  such ;  but  gifted  with  a  mind  highly  poetical 
by  nature,  and  refined  by  the  highest  cultivation,  it  was 
a  relief  to  him,  as  various  circumstances  arose,  to 
express  in  verse  the  thoughts  and  feelings  which  those 
circumstances  suggested.  His  deeply  devotional  cast 
of  mind,  his  great  and  unfailing  reverence  for  holy 
things,  his  profound  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures,  and 
of  the  sacred  Truth  taught  in  all  ages  in  the  Church, 
gave  to  these  occasional  effusions  a  prevailingly  reli- 
gious character,  while  liis  tender  love  of  home,  and 


PREFACE.  XVU 

whatever  belonged  to  home,  mingled  with  his  natural 
playfulness  of  mind  and  delight  in  children,  threw  over 
everything  he  wrote  a  gracious  sweetness  which  was 
exactly  characteristic  of  all  his  life  and  conversation. 
Time  after  time  some  little  incident,  often  of  the  very 
slightest  kind,  has  given  occasion  to  one  of  these  sweet 
gushes,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  of  verse,  in  which  very 
deep  thought  and  feeling  found  their  natural  and  gen- 
uine expression.  Once  written,  he  thought  of  them  no 
more.  Scraps  of  this  kind  are  found  on  the  backs  of 
letters,  in  leaves  of  old  pocket-books,  and  in  other 
such  places,  where  apparently  they  were  first  put  down 
and  then  forgotten. 

If  there  is  one  quality  which  more  than  another  may 
be  said  to  mark  his  writings,  it  is  their  intense  and 
absolute  veracity.  Never  for  a  moment  is  the  very 
truth  sacrificed  to  effect.  I  will  venture  to  say  with  con- 
fidence that  there  is  not  a  sentiment  to  be  found  eleva- 
ted or  amplified  beyond  what  he  really  felt ;  nor,  I 
would  add,  even  an  epithet  that  goes  beyond  his  actual 
and  true  thought.      What  he  was  in  life  and  character. 


XVin  PREFACE. 

that  he  was,  transparently,  in  every  line  he  wrote, — 
entirely,  always,  reverentially  true. 

It  was  his  own  theory  of  poetry, — a  theory  most 
beautifully  and  completely  drawn  out  in  his  Praelections, 
— that  poetry  when  regarded  in  its  own  true  and  essen- 
tial being,  is  the  natural  outpouring  of  a  mind  labouring 
inwardly,  so  to  speak,  with  lofty  and  tender  thought, 
and  endeavouring  to  obtain  relief  by  an  expression 
which,  using  images  and  sentiments  gathered  on  every 
side  of  nature,  should  be  conveyed  in  elevated  lan- 
guage and  rhythmical  measure. 

Of  poetry  in  this  high  sense,  he  thought  that  modes- 
ty is  an  essential  quality :  for  while  the  mind  in  its 
secret  agitation  craves  and  finds  relief  in  verse,  that 
very  verse  is  of  the  nature  of  a  veil,  hiding  in  part 
what  in  part  it  reveals.  Thus  the  withholding  of  the 
full  and  entire  confession  of  the  feelings  inwardly 
stirred  he  held  to  be  as  essential  to  the  character  of  a 
true  poet,  as  the  absolute  truthfulness  and  reality  of 
such  as,  with  such  reserve,  he  found  relief  in  expres- 
sing. 


PREFACE.  XIX 

He  held  that  essential  poetry  in  this  sense  was  to  be 
recognized  not  only  in  those  whom  the  world  acknowl- 
edges as  poets,  and  who  are  blessed  with  "the  accom- 
plishment of  verse,"  but  in  children,  in  persons  unedu- 
cated, and  in  such  as  perhaps  never  made  nor  read  a 
line  of  verse  in  their  lives,  but  whose  acts  or  words 
exhibit  the  essential  requisites  of  poetry,  the  mind 
labouring  with  lofty  or  tender  thought,  and  the  imagin- 
ative expression  in  which  that  thought  finds  its  reserv- 
ed and  modest,  but  sufficient  outlet.  He  illustrated 
this  view  in  the  case  of  rustics,  by  alleging  their  love 
of  home,  exhibited  in  all  sorts  of  indirect  ways  of  act 
and  word,  by  their  reverence  of  the  memory  and 
memorials  of  dead  firiends,  and  by  their  strong  sense  of 
superhuman  and  invisible  powers,  of  omens,  and  the 
like ;  acknowledging,  however,  that  "  it  is  to  be  con- 
fessed that  there  is  in  the  lowest  and  rudest  people  that 
which  often  obscures,  and  sometimes  miserably  ex- 
tinguishes that  silent  poetry  and  light  of  fancy  of  which 
we  speak,  inasmuch  as  in  their  desire  to  relieve  their 
agitation  of  feeling,  they  are  incapable  of  restraining 
themselves  from  pouring  out  alike   what   ought   and 


XX  PREFACE. 

what  ought  not  to  be  expressed,  and  so  have  no  room 
whatever  left  for  the  sweet  discipHne  of  poetry." 

In  the  well-nigh  universal  presence  of  this  essential 
poetry  in  men's  minds,  he  found  the  secret  of  the 
delight  which  so  many  take  in  the  perfect  works  of  true 
poets.  For  the  silent  strings  which  God  has  set  in  the 
hearts  of  very  many,  if  not  all,  of  His  people,  vibrate 
inwardly  to  the  true  notes,  when  they  are  skilfully 
struck  by  those  gifted  hands  to  which  God  has  been 
pleased  to  impart  the  further  gift  of  utterance  in  ad- 
dition to  that  of  appreciation. 

Pursuing  this  view  of  poetry,  and  dividing  poets  into 
the  two  classes  of  primary  and  secondary,  according  as 
they  either  write  verse  "  spontaneously,  under  a  sense 
of  distress,  desiring  to  pour  out  and  thereby  soothe 
their  feelings  of  sorrow,  or  other  kinds  of  emotion,  or, 
from  other  motives,  construct  in  verse  poetical  senti- 
ments and  rhythmical  words,"  he  examines  in  detail 
the  works  of  all  the  great  poets  of  antiquity,  classifying 
and  criticising  them  with  great  skill,  and  giving  to 
each  his  own  character  and  praise,  with  a  power  and 


PREFACE.  XXI 

delicacy  at  once  so  original  and  so  just,  as  to  make  his 
lectures  one  of  the  most  charming  and  valuable  vol- 
umes of  classical  criticism  that  have  ever  issued  from 
the  press. 

It  is  plain  from  this  slight  sketch  of  his  theory  of 
poetry,  that  the  mere  artifice  of  verse-making,  however 
perfect,  held  a  very  secondary  place  in  his  estimation  ; 
and  it  must  be  confessed  that  with  a  sweet  and  melo- 
dious flow  of  natural  verse  there  is  mingled  in  his 
writings  an  occasional  inexactness  and  roughness  of 
expression  and  rhythm  which  he  did  not  care  to 
smoothe.  Indeed,  it  is  said  on  very  good  authority 
that  the  poet  Wordsworth  (for  whom  Keble  always  en- 
tertained the  highest  reverence,  as  is  shewn  by  the 
expressions  he  uses  respecting  him  in  the  dedication  to 
the  Oxford  Praelections),  having  read  the  "Christian 
Year,"  expressed  his  high  sense  of  its  beauty,  and  also 
of  the  occasional  imperfections  of  the  verse,  in  the  fol- 
lowing most  characteristic  terms  :  "  It  is  very  good," 
he  said  ;  "  so  good,  that  if  it  were  mine,  I  would  write 
it  all  over  again." 


XXll  PREFACE. 

Still  more  strikingly  is  the  truthful  and  modest  verse 
of  the  Christian  poet  contrasted  with  the  sensational 
writings  which  are  much  in  vogue  in  the  present  age. 
Immodesty  of  all  kinds  was  utterly  repugnant  to  his 
nature,  by  which  I  mean  not  only  such  flagrant  immo- 
desty as  actually  disfigures  some  of  the  elaborate 
poetry  of  the  day,  but  also  the  immodesty  which  lays 
bare  to  the  whole  world  the  inmost  secrets  of  the  heart, 
and,  as  it  were,  dissects  and  analyzes  them  for  the 
purpose  of  shewing  the  profundity  of  thought,  and 
mastery  of  language  of  the  poet,  and  which  in  so 
doing,  can  hardly  fail  to  exaggerate,  and  exaggerating 
to  distort  the  truth  of  nature,  and  to  do  violence  to  the 
veiled  reserve  of  true  poetry. 

It  may  be  freely  granted  that  in  a  merely  artistic 
point  of  view  Keble's  poems  may  not  rank  so  high  as 
those  of  some  other  writers,  whose  claim  to  the  higher 
characteristics  of  the  true  poet  are  incalculably  inferior 
to  his.  And  it  is  not  impossible  that  those  who  take 
delight  in  such  stimulating  and  less  wholesome  strains, 
however  artificially  perfect,  may  have  lost  their  ear  and 


PREFACE.  XXlll 

taste  for  gentler  and  deeper  music.  But  it  would  indi- 
cate a  strangely  low  and  mistaken  estimate  of  that 
which  constitutes  the  real  nature  of  heavenly  poetry,  if 
verse  like  that  of  the  "  Christian  Year,"  which,  as  it 
issued  from  one  deep  and  holy  heart,  has  found  its  way 
to  the  hearts  of  so  many  thousands,  were  to  be  regard- 
ed as  a  work  of  art  only,  and  judged  of  according  to 
its  outward  rules.  No  doubt  that  precious  volume 
might  have  been  brought  up  to  a  higher  finish  in  res- 
pect of  the  exterior  qualities  of  verse.  But  which  of 
those  who  love  it  dearly  and  thankfully, — and  they  are 
a  countless  multitude  of  the  best  and  truest  servants  of 
God  in  His  Church, — would  now  consent  to  part  with 
even  its  oocasional  roughnesses  of  word  and  rhythm, 
recalling  as  they  do,  and  truthfully  representing  the 
exact  thought  of  the  writer,  in  the  very  form  in  which 
it  issued,  pure  and  genuine,  from  the  sweetest  and  ho- 
liest of  minds  ?  When  we  have  our  friends  still  with 
us,  we  may  perhaps  prefer  the  smooth  portrait,  elabora- 
ted by  the  skill  of  the  painter,  to  the  faithful  and  less 
flattering  photograph.  But  when  they  are  gone,  do  we 
regret  to  recognize  the  very  marks,  the  very  wrinkles  it 


XXIV  PREFACE. 

may  be,  which  bring  our  beloved  ones  before  our  eyes 
with  the  undeniable  and  unmistaken  exactness  of  the 
truth  ? 

The  poems  in  this  volume  will  be  found  to  add 
various  traits  to  the  portrait  of  the  beloved  author,  as 
furnished  by  the  books  which  he  published  in  his  life- 
time. Some  of  the  love-verses  of  his  youth  have 
already  been  referred  to.  The  picture  would  have  been 
strangely  incomplete  if  it  had  contained  no  recollec- 
tions of  his  deep  humbleness  *  and  tenderness  of  con- 
science, of  his  great  charity,  of  his  affectionate  and 
clinging  love  to  his  home  and  family,  and  of  his  merry 
playfulness,  especially  with  children.  A  few  trifles  of 
this  last-mentioned  kind  have  been  inserted  in  their 
respective  places,  while  others  have  been  omitted. 
Among  these  is  a  playful  letter  from  Oxford,  addressed 

a  On  the  day  before  his  funeral  his  wife  said  to  one  who  was  by 
her  bedside,  "  There  is  one  thing  that  I  do  not  think  any  one 
could  know  but  those  who  were  constantly  with  him — the  depth 
of  his  humility  and  charity.  Notwithstanding  his  very  keen  feel- 
ing about  doctrine,  he  always  made  such  great  allowances  for 
other  people.  He  never  spoke  a  sharp  word  about  those  who 
differed  from  him  without  correcting  himself  immediately." 


PREFACE.  XXV 

to  the  Miss  Pruens  with  a  copy  of  Bowdler's  Shak- 
speare.  It  is  not  worth  printing  at  length,  but  the 
following  lines  are  characteristic  : — 

"  He  has  been  in  the  dirt,  but  you'll  please  to  take  note 
One  Bowdler  has  lately  been  brushing  his  coat ; 
So  let  me  present  him  to  make  his  best  bow, 
Assured  that  you'll  not  have  to  blush  for  him  now." 

To  those  who  have  kno-\^Ti  and  loved  the  author,  this 
collection  will  hardly  fail  to  be  highly  interesting.  It 
may  not  add  much  to  his  fame  as  a  poet,  yet  neither 
will  it  be  found  to  fall  beneath  it.  But  it  will  help  to 
present  even  more  fully  than  the  other  volumes,  the 
very  truth — from  boyhood  to  old  age,  in  his  home, 
among  his  friends,  in  his  parish, — of  the  holy  man 
whose  memory  the  Church  cherishes,  and  will  surely 
continue  to  cherish  as  one  of  the  most  fragrant  and 
precious  of  her  treasures. 

G.  M. 

Chester, 

Feb.  22,  1869. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Ode  for  the  Encaenia  at  Oxford 

I 

The  Three  Absolutions 

8 

Encouragement .             .             . 

ID 

Bereavement. — Resignation 

13 

Burial  of  the  Dead         .... 

•         IS 

Lighting  of  Lamps    .... 

19 

Lights  at  Vesper            .... 

21 

Lights  in  the  Upper  Chamber 

23 

The  Churchman  to  his  Lamp    . 

.         25 

The  Watch  by  Night 

28 

Christian  Chivalry          .... 

.         29 

To  a  Thrush  Singing  in  the  Middle  of  a  Villag 

^e,  Jan. 

1833 

32 

The  African  Church       .... 

•      35 

Hooker 

3^ 

Dissent  .             .            .             .            . 

•      37 

Let  us  Depart  Hence 

39 

Athanasian  Creed          .... 

41 

Burial  Service           .... 

42 

Length  of  the  Prayers    .... 

•      43 

A  Remnant  ..... 

44 

Jeremiah              ..... 

•      45 

The  Ruler  of  the  Nations     . 

46 

The  Avenger      ..... 

•      47 

XXVlll 


CONTENTS. 


The  Herald  of  Woe      . 

The  Comforter 

Sacrilege  .... 

United  States 

Champions  of  the  Truth 

The  Creed     .... 

Spoliation  .... 

Church  and  King 

Oxford    ..... 

Fire.— Part  I. 

The  Burning  at  Taberah 

Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram 

Elijah  and  the  Messengers  of  Ahaziah 

Fire. — Part  II.        . 
Juhan  ..... 
The  FaU  of  Babylon 
Divine  Wrath 

Commune  Pontificum 

Tokens    ..... 

Seals  .... 

Gifts        ..... 

Arms  .... 

Light 

The  Gathering  of  the  Church 

Hymns  for  Emigrants   . 

The  Innocents'  Day 

First  Sunday  after  Easter 

Tenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 

Sixteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity 

St.  John's  Day 

Harvest ..... 


CONTENTS. 


XXIX 


Easter  Eve 

Holy  Matrimony       .... 

Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns 

Somno  refectis  artubus 

Jam  lucis  orto  sidere 

Nocte  surgentes 

Nunc  sancte 

Rector  potens 

Rerum  Deus 

Primo  dierum  omnium 

Lucis  Creator  optime 

Salvete  flores  Martyrum 

Cultor  Dei  memento 

Chorus  novae  Hierusalem 

Vexilla  Regis 

Verbum  superum  prodiens 

Vox  clara  ecce  personat  .  .  •  . 

Range  lingua,  gloriosi  praelium  certaminis  . 

O,  Deus,  ego  amo  Te       . 

Alleluia,  dulce  carmen  .  .  . 

Corde  natus  ex  Parentis  .... 
"  Libertas,  quae  sera  tamen  respexit  inertem,-'  1808 

To -,  on  her  Sister's  Death    . 

To  a  Girl,  who  was  complaining  that  she  had  forgotten 

her  Sister's  Birthday 
Lines  suggested  by  the  remembrance  of  an  early  but 

long-lost  Friend  .... 

On  visiting  the  Ruins  of  Farleigh  Castle,  Somersetshire 
On  leaving  Corpus  Christi  College,  on  his  Election  to 

a  Fellowship  of  Oriel  .... 

Song.  ...... 


PAGE 
116 


122 
124 
126 
127 
128 
129 
130 
132 

136 
138 
140 
142 

143 

144 

147 
149 

154 

160 

161 
162 

164 
166 


XXX  CONTENTS. 


A  Thought  on  a  Fine  Morning 

To  the  Nightingale 

Sonnet    ..... 

Stanzas  addressed  to  a  "  Gloomy  Thinker  " 

"  Nee  me  discedere  flevit " 

A  Wet  Day  at  Midsummer 

The  First  Sight  of  the  Sea 

Written  at  Sidmouth  .... 

To  a  Cave  under  High  Peak,  Sidmouth 

To  the  Memory  of  John  Leyden,  M.D.      . 

On  being  requested  to  write  some  Verses  in  a  Friend 

Commonplace-book  .  . 

Robin  Lee     ..... 

Stanzas  on  leaving  Sidmouth.     (Fragment) 

"  Nunquam  Auditurae  "        . 

Sonnet  "  concerning  the  True  Poet  "  . 

To  J.  T.  C,  with  Petrarca  . 

Song        ...... 

Ode  on  the  Victories  in  the  Pyrenees,  1813 
O,  stay  Thee  yet,  &:c.    .... 

Sonnet  ..... 

Lines  sent  with  the  Lives  of  Ridley  and  Cranmer 

At  Hooker's  Tomb  . 

Forward  .... 

Early  Visions 

On  a  Monument  in  Lichfield  Cathedral 

At  Penshurst 

Hammond's  Grave 

Spring  Flowers 

On  the  North  Road 

Newton  Cliff,  near  Fledborough 


PAGE 

167 
168 
170 
171 
173 
174 
175 
177 
179 
180 


CONTENTS. 


XXXI 


By  an  Old  Bachelor  very  disconsolate  at  parting  with 
his  Four  Wives      ..... 

To  the  Same  ..... 

The  Rook  ...... 

A  Thought  upon  taking  Leave  of  some  Friends     . 
Hymn  for  the  Annunciation       .... 

A  Hint  for  a  Fable  ..... 

Moonlight,  Ulcombe  Parsonage 

Fragment  on  his  Sister  Mary  Anne's  Death 

Huntspill  Tower  ..... 

The  Exe  below  Tiverton  at  Sunrise 

A  Mile  from  Totness  on  the  Tor  Road,  looking  back. 

Fairford  again  ..... 

Turning  out  of  the  London  Road,  down  to  Sapperton  . 
Nay,  but  these  are  Breezes  .... 

How  shall  the  Righteous  ? 

There  have  been  mighty  Winds 

In  Harmony,  &c. 

Two  Lamps  apart,  &c. 

To  E.  K.,  jun.    . 

Malvern  at  a  Distance 

Fragment 

May-day  Song  for  the  Hursley  Children 

Mother  out  of  Sight 

When  is  Communion  nearest  ? 

Holy  is  the  Sick  Man's  Room 

St  Mark  xvi.  4 

O  Lord,  if  ever,  &c. 

St.  John  xiv.  i 

Ye  of  nice  Touch,  &c.  . 

The  Clarion  calls,  &c. 


222 
223 
225 
228 
230 
134 
235 
236 

237 
238 

139 

240 
241 
243 
245 
246 

247 
ib. 
248 
250 
251 

253 
254 
260 
262 
263 
264 
265 
266 
268 


XXXll 


CONTENTS. 


In  Choirs  and  Places  where  they  Sing,  here  followeth 

the  Anthem  .....     269 

Jeremiah  xxiii.  23     .  .  .  .  .  270 

Why  seek  we,  sounding  high  and  low  .  .  .271 

Fragment      .....*  272 

St.  John  V.  16,  17  .  .  .  .  .275 

When  in  her  Hour  of  still  Decay   .  .  .  276 

To  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Merdon  .  .  .     278 

To  his  Sister  Elizabeth         ....  282 

Written  in  the  Album  at  Cuddesdon  Palace     .  .     284 

Nurse,  let  me  draw,  &c.       ....  285 

Hymn  for  Easter-tide    .  .  .  .  .287 

For  the  Opening  of  the  West  Window  of  the  Hall  of 

St.  Andrew's  College,  Bradfield.     April  5,  1859       291 
Prayers  of  Saints  .....     293 

Epitaph         ......  295 

Dart  and  Weber  .  •  .  .  .     296 

Hymn  ......  298 

To  a  Little  Girl  .  .  .  .  .  .300 

To  Master  Bernard  Wilson's  Dog .  .  .  302 


ODE  rOR  THE  ElTOilNIA  AT  OXFOED, 

Written  for  the  Installation  of  Ms  Grace  Arthur,  Duke 

of  Wellington,  Chancellor  of  the  University. 

June  11,  1834. 


IF,  when  across  the  autumnal  heaven. 
The  rude  winds  draw  their  restless  shroud, 
One  glorious  star  to  sight  be  given, 
Now  dim,  now  clear,  an  isle  in  deeps  of  cloud  ; 
Watchmen  on  their  lonely  tower. 

Shepherds  by  their  mountain  hold, 
AVistful  gazing  hour  by  hour. 

Trace  it  through  the  tempest's  fold  ; 
Even  such,  in  records  dark  of  care  and  crime 
Each  in  high  Heaven's  appointed  time. 
Bright  names  of  Heroes  glow,  that  gem  the  days  of  old. 


Ode  for  the  Enccenia  at  Oxford^ 


II. 


When  ours  are  days  of  old, 
VVhom  will  our  children's  children  name 
The  Star  of  our  dark  time,  the  man  high-soul'd, 

At  whose  undying  orb  the  true  and  bold 
May  light  their  lamps  with  pure  heroic  flame  ? 
Go  ask  of  every  gale  that  blows. 

Of  every  wave  that  curls  the  main  ; — 
Where  at  burning  noon  repose 
Tigers  by  some  Indian  fane ; 
Where  hoary  cliffs  of  Lusitane, 
Like  aged  men,  stand  waiting  on  the  shore. 
And  watch  the  setting  sun,  and  hear  th'  Atlantic  roar. 


III. 


Then  onward,  where  th'  Iberian  mountain  gale 

O'er  many  a  deep  monastic  vale. 
O'er  many  a  golden  river  loves  to  fling 
His  gatherings  from  the  thymy  lap  of  spring. 


071  the  Installation  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.       3 

Ask  wide  waters  proudly  spann'd, 
Towers  upheav'd  by  War's  strong  hand, 
Oaks  upon  their  mountains  rent, 
Where  th'  avenging  whirlwind  went ; 
Torrents  of  Navarre  that  boil 
Choking  with  abandon'd  spoil. — 
Ask  of  the  shades  endear'd  of  yore 
By  tread  of  holy  feet. 
Monarch,  or  maiden  vow'd,  or  calm-eyed  priest, 

Ask  them  by  whom  releas'd, 
They  breathe  their  hermit  hymns,  awful  and  sweet. 

In  saintly  stillness,  as  before  ; 
But  chiefly  pause  where  Heroes'  bones  are  laid 
By  Learning's  haunted  home  in  Salamanca's  glade. 


IV. 


There,  on  the  cloister'd  youth  of  Spain, 
The  trumpet  call'd,  nor  call'd  in  vain  ; — 
Not  Aaron's  clarion,  tun'd  and  blest  on  high, 
The  dread  Ark  moving  nigh, 
Thrill'd  in  a  nobler  cause,  or  pour'd  a  keener  strain. 


Ode  for  the  Enccenia  at  Oxford, 

'Mid  other  cloisters  now,  and  dearer  slirines, 
The  memory  rings  of  that  victorious  blast, 

And  years  and  glories  past, 
Charm'd  to  new  life,  advance  in  brightening  lines. 
Restorer  of  the  rightful  thrones ! 
Thee,  cottage  hearth,  thee,  palace  tower, 
Thee,  busy  mart  and  studious  bower, 
Thee,  Isis,  thine  at  last,  her  great  deliverer  owns.- 
Who  knows  not  how  the  vulture  woke. 
Whose  "  deadly  wound  was  heal'd  ? " 
One  breathless  aim — 'tis  o'er — one  stroke 
That  felon  wing  for  ever  broke. 

Oh,  laurell'd,  bloody  field  ! 
Day  of  stern  joy  for  heaven  and  earth ! 

Wrong'd  earth,  avenging  heaven  ! 
How  well  might  War's  ungentle  lore 
With  thee  depart  for  evermore. 
And  to  the  weary  world  th'  expected  birth 
Of  calm,  bright  years  be  given ! 


V. 


It  may  not  be  :  lo,  wild  and  free 
Swarms  out  anew  the  dragon  kind  ; 


on  the  Listallation  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.        5 

Spreads  fast  and  far  the  kindling  war 

Against  th'  Anointed  and  Enshrined. 
But  thou,  my  Mother !  green  as  erst  and  pure 

Thy  willows  wave,  thy  meeting  waters  glide  ; 
Untarnish'd  on  thy  matron  breast  endure 

The  treasur'd  gems,  thy  youth's  delight  and  pride  : 
Firm  Loyalty,  serene  and  fond, 
Wearing  untir'd  her  lofty  bond  ; 
Awful  Reverence,  bending  low 
AVhere'er  the  heavens  their  radiance  throw : 
And  Wisdom's  mate.  Simplicity, 
That  in  the  gloom  dares    trust   the   guiding   arm   on 
high— 
These,  of  old  thy  guardians  tried. 
Daily  kneeling  at  thy  side, 
And  wont  by  night  to  fan  thy  vigil  fires — 
We  feel  them  hovering  now  around  th'  aerial  spires. 
Our  votive  lays  unalter'd  swell, 
Our  angels  breathe  their  wiUing  spell. 
Breathe  on  our  incense  cloud,  and  bear 
Our  welcome  high  in  lucid  air. 
Telling  dark  Evil's  banded  powers 
That  he  who  freed  the  world  is  ours. 


Ode  for  the  Encccnia  at  Oxford^ 


VI. 


Stand  still  in  heaven,  fair  cloud,  a  space. 
Nor  urge  too  fast  thy  liquid  race 
Through  fields  of  day !  for  while  thou  lingerest  here, 
Soft  hazy  gleams  from  thee  descending, 
Present,  and  past,  and  future  blending, 
Renew  the  vision  lov'd,  our  glorious  trial-year. 
The  sainted  monarch  lights  again  our  aisles 
With  his  own  calm  foreboding  smiles, 

(Not  courtly  smiles,  nor  earthly  bred,) 
Sobering  Pleasure's  airy  wiles. 

And  taming  War's  too  haughty  tread. 
Around  him  wait,  a  grave,  white-robed  throng. 
The  chosen  Angels  of  the  Church  he  loves  : 
Guided  by  them,  in  her  meek  power  he  moves 
On  to  that  brightest  crown,  prepared  for  him  ere  long. 


VII. 


And  mailed  forms  are  there. 
Such  as  heroic  spirits  wear, 
Seal'd  for  high  deeds  in  yon  ethereal  halls. 


oil  the  Installation  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

Oh  if  th'  Elysian  Dream 
Were  true,  and  with  emerging  gleam 
Dread  warrior  shades  at  fated  intervals 

Were  seen  like  stars  returning, 

And  ever  brighter  burning. 
Well  might  our  shrines  and  bowers  their  Ormond  hail. 

Friend  of  his  king,  reviv'd  in  thee, 
Ere,  quite  expiring,  on  the  base  earth  fail 

The  trodden  spark  of  loyalt}-. 

Ormond,  who  paced  the  tottering  deck, 

Upright  amid  a  nation's  wreck. 

Who  spurned  the  boon  the  traitor  gave**, 

And  slumber'd  fearless  on  the  wave. — 

Warrior  !  be  such  our  course  and  thine  ! 
The  eye  that  never  sleeps 

With  undecaying  fires  benign 
Will  guide  us  o'er  the  deeps. 


a  See  Clarendon,  vi.  1184,  Edit.  Oxf.  1819.  "  The  Lord  Lieutenant,  about 
the  middle  of  Decc-mber,  1650,  embarked  himself  in  a  small  vessel  for  France, 
after  he  had  refused  to  receive  a  pass  from  Ireton,  who  offered  it;  choosins: 
lather  to  trust  the  seas  and  winds,  in  that  rough  and  boisterous  season  of 
the  year,  than  to  receive  an  obligation  from  the  rebels." 


THE  THEEE  AESOLUTIONS^ 


"And  there  shall  in  nowise  enter  into  it  anything  that  defileth, 
neither  whatsoever  worketh  abomination,  or  maketh  a  lie ;  but 
they  which  are  written  in  the  Lamb's  Book  of  Life." — Rev.  xxi.  27. 


Each  morn  and  eve,  the  Golden  Keys " 

Are  lifted  in  the  sacred  hand, 
To  shew  the  sinner  on  his  knees 

Where  Heaven's  bright  doors  wide  open  stand. 


On  the  dread  Altar  duly  laid 

The  Golden  Keys  their  witness  bear. 
That  not  in  vain  the  Church  hath  pray'd. 

That  He,  the  Life  of  souls,  is  there. 


b  I.  In  the  Daily  Service  ;  II.  In  the  Communion  ;  III.  In  the  Visitation 
of  the  Sick. 

c  This,  and  the  forty-four  poems  wliich  follow  it,  are  printed  in  the  Lyra 
Apostolica,  and  distinguished  by  the  signature  y. 


The  Three  Absolutions, 

Full  of  the  past,  all  shuddering  thought, 
Man  waits  his  hour  with  upward  eye*^ : 

The  Golden  Keys  in  love  are  brought, 
That  he  may  hold  by  them  and  die. 


But  touch  them  trembling  ;  for  that  gold 
Proves  iron  in  the  unworthy  hand, 

To  close,  not  ope,  the  favour'd  fold. 

To  bind,  not  loose,  the  lost  soul's  band. 

dVid.  Death-bed  Scenes.     "  The  Barton  Family."  §.  3. 


ENOOURAaEMENT. 


"  He  which  testifieth  these  things,  saith,  Surely 
I  come  quickly."     Rev-  xxii.  20. 


Fear  not  :  for  He  hath  sworn  : 
Faithful  and  true  His  name  : 
The  glorious  hours  are  onward  borne ; 
'Tis  lit,  th'  immortal  flame  ; 
It  glows  around  thee  :  kneel,  and  strive,  and  win 
Daily  one  living  ray — 'twill  brighter  glow  within. 


Yet  fear  :  the  time  is  brief , 

The  Holy  One  is  near  ; 
And,  like  a  spent  and  wither'd  leaf 
In  autumn-twilight  drear. 
Faster  each  hour,  on  Time's  unslackening  gale, 
The  dreaming  world  drives  on,  to  where  all  visions  fail. 


Encoura^ejnent.  1 1 


Surely  the  time  is  short : 

Endless  the  task  and  art, 
To  brighten  for  the  ethereal  court 
A  soil'd  earth-drudging  heart. — 
But  He,  the  dread  Proclaimer  of  that  hour, 
Is  pledged  to  thee  in  Love,  as  to  thy  foes  in  Power. 


His  shoulders  bear  the  Key : 
He  opens — who  can  close  ? 
Closes — and  who  dare  open  ? — He 
Thy  soul's  misgiving  knows. 
If  He  come  quick,  the  mightier  sure  will  prove 
His  Spirit  in  each  heart  that  timely  strives  to  love. 


Then  haste  Thee,  Lord !  Come  down. 

Take  Thy  great  power,  and  reign  ! 
But  frame  Thee  first  a  perfect  Crown 
Of  spirits  freed  from  stain. 
Souls  mortal  once,  now  match'd  for  evermore 
With  the  immortal  gems  that  form'd  Thy  wreath  before. 


1 2  Eficoiiragefnent. 


Who  in  Thy  portal  wait, 

Free  of  that  glorious  throng, 
Wondering,  review  their  trial-state, 
The  life  that  erst  seem'd  long  ; 
Wondering  at  His  deep  love,  who  purged  so  base 
And  earthly  mould  so  soon  for  th'  undefiled  place. 


BEEEAVEMENT.-EESiaifATION. 


"  Wherefore  I  abhor  myself,  and  repent  in  dust  and 
ashes." — yod  xhi.  6. 


And  dare  I  say,  "  Welcome  to  me 
The  pang  that  proves  Thee  near?' 

O  words,  too  oft  on  bended  knee 
Breathed  to  th'  Unerring  Ear. 

While  the  cold  spirit  silently 
Pines  at  the  scourge  severe. 


Nay,  try  once  more — thine  eyelids  close 

For  prayer  intense  and  meek  : 
When  the  warm  light  gleams  through  and  shews 

Him  near  who  helps  the  weak. 
Unmurmuring  then  thy  heart's  repose 

In  dust  and  ashes  seek. 


14  Bereavement. — Resignatioii. 

But  when  the  self-abhorring  thrill 
Is  past,  as  pass  it  must, 

When  tasks  of  life  thy  spirit  fill. 
Risen  from  thy  tears  and  dust, 

Then  be  the  self  renouncing  will 
The  seal  of  thy  calm  trust. 


BTJEIAL  OF  THE  DEAD. 

I  THOUGHT  to  meet  no  more,  so  dreary  seem'd 
Death's  interposing  veil,  and  thou  so  pure, 

Thy  place  in  Paradise 

Beyond  where  I  could  soar  ; 

Friend  of  this  worthless  heart !  but  happier  thoughts 
Spring  like  unbidden  violets  from  the  sod, 

Where  patiently  thou  tak'st 

Thy  sweet  and  sure  repose. 

The  shadows  fall  more  soothing  :  the  soft  air 
Is  full  of  cheering  whispers  like  thine  own  ; 

While  Memory,  by  thy  grave. 

Lives  o'er  thy  funeral  day ; 

The  deep  knell  dying  down,  the  mourners  pause, 
Waiting  their  Saviour's  welcome  at  the  gate. — 

Sure  with  the  words  of  Heaven 

Thy  spirit  met  us  there, 


1 6  Burial  of  the  Dead. 

And  sought  with  us  along  th'  accustom'd  way 
The  hallow'd  porch,  and  entering  in,  beheld 
The  pageant  of  sad  joy, 
So  dear  to  Faith  and  Hope. 

O  !  hadst  thou  brought  a  strain  from  Paradise 
To  cheer  us,  happy  soul,  thou  hadst  not  touch'd 

The  sacred  springs  of  grief 

More  tenderly  and  true, 

Than  those  deep-warbled  anthems,  high  and  low, 
Low  as  the  grave,  high  as  th'  Eternal  Throne, 
Guiding  through  light  and  gloom 
Our  mourning  fancies  wild. 

Till  gently,  like  soft  golden  clouds  at  eve 
Around  the  western  twilight,  all  subside 
Into  a  placid  faith. 
That  even  with  beaming  eye 

Counts  thy  sad  honours,  cofBn,  bier,  and  pall ; 
So  many  relics  of  a  frail  love  lost. 

So  many  tokens  dear 

Of  endless  love  begun. 


Burial  of  the  Dead.  1 7 

Listen  !  it  is  no  dream  :  th'  Apostles'  trump 
Gives  earnest  of  th'  Archangel's ; — calmly  now 

Our  hearts  yet  beating  high 

To  that  victorious  lay. 


Most  like  a  warrior's  to  the  martial  dirge 
Of  a  true  comrade,  in  the  grave  we  trust 
Our  treasure  for  awhile  : 
And  if  a  tear  steal  down, 


If  human  anguish  o'er  the  shaded  brow 

Pass  shuddering,  when  the  handful  of  pure  earth 

Touches  the  coffin-lid ; 

If  at  our  brother's  name, 


Once  and  again  the  thought,  "  for  ever  gone," 
Come  o'er  us  like  a  cloud  ;  yet,  gentle  spright, 
Thou  turnest  not  away, 
Thou  know'st  us  calm  at  heart. 


3  Burial  of  the  Dead. 

One  look,  and  we  have  seen  our  last  of  thee, 
Till  we  too  sleep  and  our  long  sleep  be  o'er. 
O  cleanse  us,  ere  we  view 
That  countenance  pure  again, 


Thou,  who  canst  change  the  heart,  and  raise  the  dead! 

As  Thou  art  by  to  soothe  our  parting  hour. 
Be  ready  when  we  meet. 
With  Thy  dear  pardoning  words; 


NoTB.— This  poem  was  intended  for  the  "  Burial  of  the  Dead  "  in  the  first 
MS.  of  the  Christian  Tear,  but  was  afterwards  changed  for  "  Who  says,  the 
wan  autumnal  sun?"  It  was  first  intended  for  the  Sixteenth  Sunday  after 
Trinity. 


LIGHTING  OF  LAMPS. 

Lights  in  the  Temple. 

"  And  Aaron  shall  burn  thereon  sweet  incense  every  morning : 
when  he  dresseth  the  lamps  he  shall  burn  incense  upon  it.  And 
when  Aaron  lighteth  the  lamps  at  even,  he  shall  burn  incense  upon 
it ;  a  perpetual  incense  before  the  Lord,  throughout  your  genera- 
tions."— Exod.  XXX.  7,  8. 

Now  the  stars  are  lit  in  heaven, 
We  must  light  our  lamps  on  earth  : 

Every  star  a  signal  given 

From  the  God  of  our  new  birth  : 

Every  lamp  an  answer  faint, 

Like  the  prayer  of  mortal  Saint. 

Mark  the  hour  and  turn  this  way, 

Sons  of  Israel,  far  and  near  ! 
Wearied  with  the  world's  dim  day, 

Turn  to  Him  whose  eyes  are  here, 
Open,  watching  day  and  night. 
Beaming  unapproached  light ! 


20  Lighting  of  La7nps. 

With  sweet  oil-drops  in  His  hour 
Feed  the  branch  of  many  Hghts, 

Token  of  protecting  power, 
Pledg'd  to  faithful  Israelites, 

Emblem  of  the  anointed  Home, 

When  the  glory  deigns  to  come. 

Watchers  of  the  sacred  flame. 
Sons  of  Aaron  !  serve  in  fear, — 

Deadly  is  th'  avenger's  aim, 

Should  th'  unhallowed  enter  here  ; 

Keen  His  fires,  should  recreants  dare 

Breathe  the  pure  and  fragrant  air. 

There  is  One  will  bless  your  toil — 
He  who  comes  in  Heaven's  attire, 

Morn  by  morn,  with  holy  oil ; 
Eve  by  eve,  with  holy  fire  ! 

Pray  ! — your  prayer  will  be  allowed, 

Mingling  with  His  incense  cloud  ! 


LIGHTS  AT  VESPEES. 


**  Then  spake  Jesus  again  unto  them,  sa3dng,  I  am  the  Light  of 
the  world  :  he  that  followeth  Me  shall  not  walk  in  darkness,  but 
shall  have  the  light  of  life. — -5^.  John  viii.  12. 


Full  many  an  eve,  and  many  a  morn, 

The  holy  Lamps  have  blazed  and  died ; 
The  floor  by  knees  of  sinners  worn, 
The  mystic  altar's  golden  horn, 
Age  after  age  have  witness  borne 
To  faith  that  on  a  lingering  Saviour  cried. 


"At  evening  time  there  shall  be  light " — 
'Twas  said  of  old — 'tis  wrought  to-day  : 
Now  with  the  stolbd  priest  in  sight. 
The  perfumed  embers  quivering  bright. 
Ere  yet  the  ceiling's  spangled  height 
The  glory  catch  of  the  new  kindled  ray ! 


2  Lights  at  Vespers. 

A  voice  not  loud,  but  thrilling  clear, 

On  hearts  prepared  falls  benign  : — 
"  I  am  the  world's  true  Light :  who  hear 
And  follow  Me,  no  darkness  fear, 
Nor  waning  eve,  nor  changing  year ; 
The  Light  of  Life  is  theirs  :  pure  Light  of  Life  divine !" 


LIGHTS  IN  THE  HPPEE  OHAMEEE. 


"And  there   were   many   lights   in   the  upper  chamber,  where 
they  were  gathered  together. — Acts  xx.  8, 


He  spake  :  He  died  and  rose  again — 

And  now  His  Spirit  lights 
The  hallowed  fires  o'er  land  and  main, 

And  every  heart  invites. 

They  glow  :  but  not  in  gems  and  gold 

With  cedar  arched  o'er ; 
But  in  far  nooks  obscure  and  cold, 

On  many  a  cabin  floor  : 

^Vhen  the  true  soldiers  steal  an  hour 

To  break  the  bread  of  Life, 
And  drink  the  draught  of  love  and  power, 

And  plan  the  holy  strife. 


24  Lights  in  the  Upper  Chamber. 

Ye  humble  Tapers,  fearless  bui  n — 
Ere  in  the  morn  ye  fade, 

Ye  shall  behold  a  soul  return, 
Even  from  the  last  dim  shade  : 

That  all  may  know  what  love  untold 
Attends  the  chosen  race. 

Whom  apostolic  arms  enfold. 
Who  cling  to  that  embrace. 

And  wheresoe'er  a  cottage  light 
Is  trimmed  for  evening  prayer. 

Faith  may  recall  that  wondrous  night- 
Who  raised  the  dead,  is  there. 


THE  OHUEOHMAN  TO  HIS  LAMP. 

Light  in  tlie  Closet. 

Come,  t^vinkle  in  my  lonely  room, 
Companion  true  in  hours  of  gloom ; 
Come,  light  me  on  a  little  space, 
The  heavenly  vision  to  retrace. 
By  Saints  and  Angels  loved  so  well,- 
My  Mother's  glories  ere  she  fell. 


There  was  a  time,  my  friendly  Lamp, 

When,  far  and  wide,  in  Jesus'  camp. 

Oft  as  the  foe  dark  inroads  made, 

They  watch'd  and  fasted,  wept  and  prayed ; 

But  now,  they  feast  and  slumber  on. 

And  say,  "  Why  pine  o'er  evil  done  ? " 


26  The  Churchman  to  his  Lamp. 

Then  hours  of  Prayer,  in  welcome  round, 
Far-sever'd  hearts  together  bound  : 
Seven  times  a  day,  on  bejided  knee^ 
They  to  their  Saviour  cried ;  and  we — 
One  hour  we  find  in  seven  long  days, 
Before  our  God  to  sit  and  gaze ! 


Then,  lowly  Lamp,  a  ray  like  thine 
Waked  half  the  world  to  hymns  divine 
Now  it  is  much  if  here  and  there 
One  dreamer,  by  the  genial  glare. 
Trace  the  dim  Past,  and  slowly  climb 
The  steep  of  Faith's  triumphant  prime. 


Yet  by  His  grace,  whose  breathing  gives 

Life  to  the  faintest  spark  that  lives, 

I  trim  thee,  precious  Lamp,  once  more, 

Our  fathers'  armoury  to  explore, 

And  sort  and  number  wistfully 

A  few  bright  weapons,  bathed  on  high. 


The  Churchinan  to  his  Lanip.  27 

And  may  thy  guidance  ever  tend 

Where  gentle  thoughts  with  courage  blend ; 

Thy  pure  and  steady  gleaming  rest 

On  pages  with  the  Cross  imprest ; 

Till,  touch'd  with  lightning  of  calm  zeal, 

Our  fathers'  very  heart  we  feel. 


THE  WATCH  BY  NIGHT. 


"And  Uriah  said  unto  David,  The  ark,  and  Israel,  and  Judah, 
abide  in  tents  ;  and  my  lord  Joab,  and  the  servants  of  my  lord, 
are  encamped  in  the  open  fields ;  shall  I  then  go  into  mine  house, 

to  eat  and  to  drink  ? As  thou  livest,  and  as  thy  soul  liveth, 

I  will  not  do  this  thing." — 2  Sam.  xi.  II. 


The  Ark  of  God  is  in  the  field, 
Like  clouds  around  the  alien  armies  sweep ; 

Each  by  his  spear,  beneath  his  shield, 
In  cold  and  dew  the  anointed  warriors  sleep. 


And  can  it  be  thou  liest  awake. 
Sworn  watchman,  tossing  on  thy  couch  of  down  ? 

And  doth  thy  recreant  heart  not  ache 
To  hear  the  sentries  round  the  leaguer'd  town  t 


Oh  dream  no  more  of  quiet  life  j 
Care  finds  the  careless  out :  more  wise  to  vow 

Thine  heart  entire  to  Faith's  pure  strife ; 
So  peace  will  come,  thou  know'st  not  when  or  how. 


OHEISTIAN   OHIYALEY. 


The  VigiL 


"  Silence,  unworthy !  how  should  tones  like  thine 
Blend  with  the  warnings  of  the  good  and  true  ? 
God  hath  no  need  of  waverers  round  His  shrine  : 
What  hath  th'  unclean  with  Heaven's  high  cause  to  do  ?" 
Thus  in  the  deep  of  many  a  shrinking  heart 
The  murmurings  swell  and  heave  of  sad  remorse, 
And  dull  the  soul,  that  else  would  keenly  dart 
Fearless  along  her  heaven-illumin'd  course. 
But,  wayward  doubter,  lift  one  glance  on  high ; 
What  banner  streams  along  thy  destin'd  way  ? 
The  pardoning  Cross, — His  Cross  who  deign'd  to  die 
To  cleanse  th'  impure  for  His  own  bright  array. 
Wash  thee  in  His  dear  blood,  and  trembling  wear 
His  holy  Sign,  and  take  thy  station  there. 


so  Christian   Chivalry. 


II. 


Wash  thee,  and  watch  thine  armour ;  as  of  old 

The  champions  vow'd  of  Truth  and  Purity, 

Ere  the  bright  mantle  might  their  limbs  enfold. 

Or  spear  of  theirs  in  knightly  combat  vie. 

Three  summer  nights  out\vatch'd  the  stars  on  high, 

And  found  the  time  too  short  for  busy  dreams. 

Pageants  of  airy  prowess  dawning  nigh. 

And  fame  far  hovering  with  immortal  beams. 

And  more  than  prowess  theirs,  and  more  than  fame ; 

No  dream,  but  an  abiding  consciousness 

Of  an  approving  God,  a  righteous  aim. 

An  arm  outstretch'd  to  guide  them  and  to  bless  : 

Firm  as  steel  bows  for  Angels'  warfare  bent 

They  went  abroad,  not  knowing  where  they  went. 


III. 


For  why  ?  the  sacred  Pentecostal  eve 

Had  bathed  them  with  its  own  inspiring  dew, 

And  gleams  more  bright  than  summer  sunsets  leave 

Lingering  well-nigh  to  meet  the  morn's  fresh  hue, 


Christian  Chivalry.  31 

Dwelt  on  each  heart ;  as  erst  in  memory  true, 
The  Spirit's  chosen  heralds  o'er  all  lands 
Bore  the  bright  tongues  of  fire.     Thus,  firm  and  few, 
Now,  in  our  fallen  time,  might  faithful  bands 
Move  on  th'  eternal  way,  the  goal  in  sight. 
Nor  to  the  left  hand  swerve  for  gale  or  shower, 
Nor  pleasure  win  them,  wavering  to  the  right : 
Alone  with  Heaven  they  were  that  awful  hour, 
When  their  oath  seal'd  them  to  the  war  of  Faith ; 
Alone  they  will  be  in  the  hour  of  death. 


TO  A  THEUSH  SINGING  IE  THE  MIDDLE  OF  A 
VILLAGE,  JAN.  1833. 


Sweet  bird  !  up  earliest  in  the  morn, 

Up  earliest  in  the  year, 
Far  in  the  quiet  mist  are  borne 

Thy  matins  soft  and  clear. 


As  linnet  soft,  and  clear  as  lark. 
Well  hast  thou  ta'en  thy  part^ 

Where  many  an  ear  thy  notes  may  reach, 
And  here  and  there  a  heart. 


The  first  snow-wreaths  are  scarcely  gone, 

(They  stayed  but  half  a  day) 
The  berries  bright  hang  ling'ring  on ; 

Yet  thou  hast  learn'd  thy  lay. 


To  a  Thricsh  Singing,  d^c.  33 

One  gleam,  one  gale  of  western  air 

Has  hardly  brush'd  thy  wing  ; 
Yet  thou  hast  given  thy  welcome  fair, 

Good-morrow  to  the  spring ! 

Perhaps  within  thy  carol's  sound 

Some  wakeful  mourner  lies, 
Dim  roaming  days  and  years  around, 

That  ne'er  again  may  rise. 

He  thanks  thee  with  a  tearful  eye. 

For  thou  hast  wing'd  his  spright 
Back  to  some  hour  when  hopes  were  nigh 

And  dearest  friends  in  sight ; 

That  simple,  fearless  note  of  thine 

Has  pierced  the  cloud  of  care. 
And  lit  awhile  the  gleam  divine 

That  bless'd  his  infant  prayer ; 

Ere  he  had  known,  his  faith  to  blight, 

The  scorner's  withering  smile  ; 
While  hearts,  he  deem'd,  beat  true  and  right, 

Here  in  our  Christian  Isle. 
c 


34  To  a  Thrush  Singing,  &=€. 

That  sunny,  morning  glimpse  is  gone, 
That  morning  note  is  still ; 

The  dun  dark  day  comes  lowering  on, 
The  spoilers  roam  at  will ; 


Yet  calmly  rise,  and  boldly  strive  j 
The  sweet  bird's  early  song, 

Ere  evening  fall  shall  oft  revive, 
And  cheer  thee  all  day  long. 


Are  we  not  sworn  to  serve  our  King  ? 

He  sworn  with  us  to  be  ? 
The  birds  that  chant  before  the  spring. 

Are  truer  far  than  we. 


THE  APEIOAN  OHTJEOH. 

"The  gifts  and  calling  of  God  are  without  repentance." — Rom. 
xi.  29. 

The  lions  prowl  around,  thy  grave  to  guard, 

And  Moslem  prayers  profane 
At  morn  and  eve  come  sounding  :  yet  unscared 

The  Holy  Shades  remain  : — 
Cyprian,  thy  chief  of  watchmen,  wise  and  bold. 

Trusting  the  lore  of  his  own  loyal  heart. 
And  Cyprian's  Master,  as  in  age  high-soul'd, 

Yet  choosing  as  in  youth  the  better  part. 
There,  too,  unwearied  Austin,  thy  keen  gaze 

On  Atlas'  steep,  a  thousand  years  and  more. 
Dwells,  waiting  for  the  first  rekindling  rays. 

When  Truth  upon  the  solitary  shore 
For  the  fall'n  West  may  light  his  beacon  as  of  yore. 


HOOKEE. 

"The  night  is  far  spent,  the  day  is  at  hand." — Rom.  xiii   12. 

Voice  of  the  wise  of  old ! 
Go  breathe  thy  thrilling  whispers  now 
In  cells  where  learned  eyes  late  vigils  hold, 

And  teach  proud  Science  where  to  vail  her  brow. 

Voice  of  the  meekest  man  ! 
Now  while  the  Church  for  combat  arms, 
Calmly  do  thou  confirm  her  awful  ban. 
Thy  words  to  her  be  conquering,  soothing  charms. 

Voice  of  the  fearless  Saint ! 
Ring  like  a  trump,  where  gentle  hearts 
Beat  high  for  truth,  but,  doubting,  cower  and  faint  : — 
Tell  them,  the  hour  is  come,  and  they  -must  take  their 
parts. 


DISSENT. 
The  One  Way. 


"  That  we  should  earnestly  contend  for  the  faith  that  was  once 
[for  all]  delivered  unto  the  saints." — Sf.  Jude  3. 


One  only  Way  to  life  : 
One  Faith,  deliver'd  once  for  all ; 
One  holy  Band,  endow'd  with  Heaven's  high  call  j 

One  earnest,  endless  strife  ; — 
This  is  the  Church,  th'  Eternal  framed  of  old. 


Smooth  open  ways,  good  store  ; 
A  Creed  for  every  clime  and  age, 
By  Mammon's  touch  new  moulded  o'er  and  o'er ; 

No  cross,  no  war  to  wage  ; 
This  is  the  Church  our  earth-dimm'd  eyes  behold. 


38  Dissejit. 

But  ways  must  have  an  end, 
Creeds  undergo  the  trial-flame, 
Nor  with  th'  impure  the  Saints  for  ever  blend, 

Heaven's  glory  with  our  shame : — 
Think  on  that  hour,  and  choose  'twixt  soft  and  bold. 


LET  US  DEPAET  HElfOE.' 


Profanation. 


Is  there  no  sound  about  our  Altars  heard 

Of  gliding  forms  that  long  have  watched  in  vain 
For  slumbering  discipline  to  break  her  chain, 

And  aim  the  bolt  by  Theodosius  feared  ? 

"  Let  us  depart ; " — these  English  souls  are  sear'd, 
Who,  for  one  grasp  of  perishable  gold, 
Would  brave  the  curse  by  holy  men  of  old 

Laid  on  the  robbers  of  the  shrines  they  rear'd ; 


e  MeTa^alVwJu.€T'  evrevOev.  Among  the  portents  which  took  place  before  the 
taking  of  Jerusalem  by  the  Romans,  the  following  is  mentioned  by  Josephus; 
'•During  the  festival  which,  is  called  Pentecost,  the  priests,  by  night,  having 
come  into  the  inner  temple  to  perform  their  services,  as  was  their  custom, 
reported  that  they  perceived,  firs+  a  motion,  a  noise,  and  then  they  heard  as 
it  were  a  great  crowd,  saying,  'Let  us  depart  hence/ ''  Vide  Bishop  Newton 
on  the  Prophecies,  vol.  ii.  Dissert.  18. 


40  Lei  us  Depart  Hence. 

Who  shout  for  joy  to  see  the  ruffian  band 
Come  to  reform,  where  ne'er  they  came  to  pray, 
E'en  where  unbidden,  Seraphs  never  trod. 
Let  us  depart,  and  leave  the  apostate  land 
To  meet  the  rising  whirlwind  as  she  may. 
Without  her  guardian  Angels  and  her  God. 


ATHANASIAN  OKEED. 


"  Seek  we  some  realm  where  \drgin  souls  may  pray 
In  faith  untamish'd  by  the  sophist's  scorn, 
And  duly  raise  on  each  diviner  morn 
The  Psalm  that  gathers  in  one  glorious  lay 
All  chants  that  e'er  from  heaven  to  earth  found  way 
Majestic  march  !  as  meet  to  guide  and  time 
Man's  wandering  path  in  life's  ungenial  clime, 
As  Aaron's  tmmp  for  the  dread  Ark's  arra}'. 
Creed  of  the  Saints,  and  Anthem  of  the  Blest, 
And  calm-breathed  warning  of  the  kindliest  love 
That  ever  heaved  a  wakeful  mother's  breast, 
(True  love  is  bold,  and  gravely  dares  reprove,) 
Who  knows  but  myriads  owe  their  endless  rest 
To  thy  recalling,  tempted  else  to  rove  ? 


BUEIAL  SERYIOE. 

And  they  who  grudge  the  Omnipotent  His  praise 
What  wonder  if  they  grudge  the  dead  his  hope  ? 
The  irreverent,  restless  eye  finds  room  and  scope, 

E'en  by  the  grave,  to  wrangle,  pry,  and  gaze. 

Heaven  in  its  mercy  hides,  but  man  displays  ; 

Heaven  throws  a  gleam,  where  they  would  darken  all ; 
A  shade,  where  they,  forgetting  worm  and  pall, 

Sing  triumph ;  they  excite,  but  Heaven  allays. 
Alas,  for  England's  mourners,  if  denied 
The  soothing  tones  of  Hope,  though  faint  and  low, 
Or  swol'n  up  high  with  partial  tearless  pride ! 
Better  in  silence  hide  their  dead,  and  go. 
Than  sing  a  hopeless  dirge,  or  coldly  chide 
The  faith  that  owns  release  from  earthly  woe. 


LEITGTH  OP  THE  PEAYEES. 


"  But  Faith  is  cold,  and  wilful  men  are  strong, 

And  the  blithe  world,  with  bells  and  harness  proud, 
Rides  tinkling  by,  so  musical  and  loud, 

It  drowns  the  Eternal  Word,  the  Angelic  Song ; 

And  one  by  one  the  weary,  listless  throng 

Steals  out  of  church,  and  leaves  the  choir  unseen 
Of  winged  guards  to  weep,  where  prayer  had  been, 

That  souls  immortal  find  that  hour  too  long. 
Most  fatal  token  of  a  falling  age  ! 
Wit  ever  busy.  Learning  ever  new. 
Unsleeping  Fancy,  Eloquence  untired; — 
Prayer  only  dull !     The  Saints'  and  Mart}Ts'  page 
A  tedious  scroll ;  the  scorn'd  and  faitbJul  few 
Left  to  bewail  such  beauty  undesired." 


A  EEMNANT. 


Sons  of  our  Mother  !  such  the  indignant  strain 

Might  haply  strike,  this  hour,  a  pastor's  ear, 
Purged  to  discern,  for  once,  the  aerial  train 
Of  heavenly  sentinels  yet  lingering  here  ; 
And  what  if,  blending  with  the  chant  austere, 
A  soft  inviting  note  attune  the  close  ? 

"  We  go  j — but  faithful  hearts  will  find  us  near. 
Who  cling  beside  their  Mother  in  her  woes. 
Who  love  the  Rites  that  erst  their  fathers  lov'd. 
Nor  tire  of  David's  Hymn,  and  Jesus'  Prayer : — 
Their  quiet  Altars,  wheresoe'er  removed. 
Shall  clear  with  incense  sweet  the  unholy  air ; 
In  persecution  safe,  in  scorn  approv'd, 
Angels,  and  He  who  rules  them,  will  be  there." 


JEEEMIAH. 

The  Patriot. 
"  Thou  fallest  away  to  the  Chaldeans." — Jer.  xxxvii.  13. 

They  say,  "  The  man  is  false,  and  falls  away :  " 
Yet  sighs  my  soul  in  secret  for  their  pride  ; 

Tears  are  mine  hourly  food,  and  night  and  day 
I  plead  for  them,  and  may  not  be  denied. 

They  say,  "  His  words  unnerve  the  warrior's  hand, 
And  dim  the  statesman's  eye,  and  disunite 

The  friends  of  Israel : "  yet,  in  every  land. 

My  words,  to  Faith,  are  Peace,  and  Hope,  and  Might. 

They  say,  "  The  frenzied  one  is  fain  to  see 

Glooms  of  his  own ;  and  gathering  storms  afar  ; — 

But  dungeons  deep,  and  fetters  strong  have  we." 
Alas  !  Heaven's  lightning  would  ye  chain  and  bar  1 

Ye  scorn ers  of  th'  Eternal !  wait  one  hour  ; 
In  His  seer's  weakness  ye  shall  see  His  power. 


THE  EULEE  OP  THE  NATIONS, 


"  I  have  set  thee  this  day  over  the  nations,  and  over  the 
kingdoms." — Jer.  i.  lo. 


"  The  Lord  hath  set  me  o'er  the  kings  of  earth, 
To  fasten  and  uproot,  to  build  and  mar ; 
Not  by  mine  own  fond  will :  else  never  war 
Had  still'd  in  Anathoth  the  voice  of  mirth. 
Nor  from  my  native  tribe  swept  bower  and  hearth : 
Ne'er  had  the  light  of  Judah's  royal  star 
Fail'd  in  mid  heaven,  nor  trampling  steed  and  car 
Ceas'd  from  the  courts  that  saw  Josiah's  birth. 
'Tis  not  in  me  to  give  or  take  away, 
But  He  who  guides  the  thunder-peals  on  high. 
He  tunes  my  voice,  the  tones  of  His  deep  sway 
Faintly  to  echo  in  the  nether  sky. 
Therefore  I  bid  earth's  glories  set  or  shine. 
And  it  is  so ;  my  words  are  sacraments  divine." 


THE  AYEI^GES. 

"  This  man  is  worthy  to  die  :  for  he  hath  prophesied  against 
this  city." — Jer.  xxvi.  II. 

"  No  joy  of  mine  to  invite  the  thunder  down, 
No  pride,  th'  uprising  whirhvind  to  survey, 

How  gradual  from  the  north,  with  hideous  frown 
It  veers  in  silence  round  the  horizon  grey, 
And  one  by  one  sweeps  the  bright  isles  away. 

Where  fondly  gaz'd  the  men  of  worldly  peace. 
Dreaming  fair  weather  would  outlast  their  day. 

Now   the    big   storm-drops   fall,   their   dream  must 
cease — 

They  know  it  well,  and  fain  their  ire  would  wreak 
On  the  dread  arm  that  yields  the  bolt  j  but  He 

Is  out  of  reach,  therefore  on  me  they  turn ; — 

On  me,  that  am  but  voice,  fading  and  weak, 

A  wither'd  leaf  inscribed  with  Heaven's  decree. 
And  blown  where  haply  some  in  fear  may  learn." 


THE  HEKALD  OF  WOE. 

"  I  said,  I  will  not  make  mention  of  him.  .  .  .  But  his  word  was 
in  mine  heart  as  a  burning  fire." — Jer.  xx.  9. 

"  Sad  privilege  is  mine,  to  shew 
What  hour,  which  way,  the  bitter  streams  will  flow. 

Oft  have  I  said,  '  enough — no  more 
To  uncharm'd  ears  th'  unearthly  strain  I  pour ! ' 

But  the  dread  word  its  way  would  win, 
E'en  as  a  burning  fire  my  bones  within, 

And  I  was  forced  to  tell  aloud 
My  tale  of  warning  to  the  reckless  proud." 
Awful  warning !  yet  in  love 

Breathed  on  each  believing  ear, 
How  Heaven  in  wrath  would  seem  to  move 
The  landmarks  of  a  thousand  year, 
And  from  the  tablets  of  th'  eternal  sky 
The  covenant  oath  erase  of  God  Most  High. 
That  hour,  full  timely  was  the  leaf  unroll'd, 
AVhich  to  the  man  belov'd  the  years  of  bondage  told. 
And  till  his  people's  chain  should  be  outworn, 
Assign'd  him  for  his  lot  times  past  and  times  unborn. 


THE  OOMPOETEE. 

"  O  ye  remnant  of  Judah,  go  ye  not  into  Egypt." — Jer.  xlii.  19. 

"  O  SWEETLY  timed,  as  e'er  was  gentle  hand 

Of  mother  press'd  on  weeping  infant's  brow, 
Is  every  sign  that  to  His  fallen  land 

Th'  Almighty  sends  by  prophet  mourners  now. 
The  glory  from  the  ark  is  gone, — 

The  mystic  cuirass  gleams  "no  more, 
In  answer  from  the  Holy  One, — 
Low  lies  the  temple,  wondrous  store 
Of  mercies  seal'd  with  blood  each  eve  and  morn  ; 
Yet  Heaven  hath  tokens  for  faith's  eye  forlorn. 

"  Heaven  by  my  mouth  was  fain  to  stay 

The  pride  that,  in  our  evil  day, 

Would  fain  have  struggled  in  Chaldea's  chain  : 

Nay  kiss  the  rod  :  th'  Avenger  needs  must  reign  : 

D 


50  The  Comforter. 

And  now,  though  every  shrine  is  still, 
Speaks  out  by  me  the  unchanging  will ; 
*  Seek  not  to  Egypt ;  there  the  curse  will  come  ; 
But,  till  the  woe  be  past,  round  Canaan  roam, 
And  meekly  'bide  your  hour  beside  your  ruin'd  home.' 


SAOEILEGE. 


**  I  have  heard  of  Thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  no%Y  mine 
eye  seeth  Thee." — Job  xlii.  5. 


'TwAS  on  the  day'  -when  England's  Church  of  yore 
Hail'd  tlie  New  Year — a  day  to  angels  known, 

Since  holy  Gabriel  to  meek  Mary  bore 

The  presence-token  of  th'  Incarnate  Son — 
Up  a  low  vale  a  Shepherd  strayed  alone  ; 

Slow  was  his  step  and  lowly  bent  his  eye, 

Save  when*  at  times  a  thought  of  tasks  undone 

His  waken'd  wincing  memor\-  stung  too  nigh  : 
Then  startled  into  speed,  else  wandering  wearily. 


f  The  above  Avas  written  March  25, 1S33,  whilst  the  Irish  Chnrch  Bill  was 
in  progress. 


52  Sacrilege. 


II. 


A  Shepherd  he,  but  not  of  lambs  and  ewes, 

But  of  that  flock  redeem'd  with  precious  Blood ; 

Thoughtless  too  oft,  now  deeply  seen  to  muse 
O'er  the  cold  lea  and  by  the  rushing  flood, 
And  where  the  pathway  skirts  the  leafless  wood, 

And  the  heap'd  snow,  in  mockery  of  the  spring. 
Lies  mantling  primrose  flower  and  cowslip  bud, 

And  scared  birds  forget  to  build  and  sing. 
So  rudely   the   cold  North  has  brush'd  each  tender 
wing. 


III. 


These  Easter  snows,  of  evil  do  they  bode  ? 

Of    Faith's    fair    blossoms    withering    ere    their 
prime  ; 
And  of  a  glorious  Church  that  early  glow'd 

Bright    as    yon    crown   of    stars    in    cold    clear 

time. 
That  never  sets,  pride  of  our  arctic  clime. 


Sacrilege.  53 

Xow    deeply    plunged   where   tempests   drive   and 
sweep, 
Wavering  and  flickering,  while  rude  gusts  of  crime 
Rush  here  and  there  across  th'  ethereal  deep. 
And  scarce  one  golden  isle  her  station  seems  to  keep  ? 


IV. 

Nay — 'tis  our  human  eyes,  our  airs  of  earth. 

That  waver ;  yet  on  high  th'  unquenched  stars 
Blaze  as  they  blazed,  and  in  their  might  go  forth  : 

The  Spouse  of  Heaven  nor  crime  nor  rapine  mars. 

But  the  Most  High  permits  these  earthly  jars, 
That  souls  yet  hearing  only,  may  awake 

And  see  Him  near,  and  feel  and  own  the  bars 
'Twixt  them  and  Him.     O  be  Thou  near,  to  make 
The   worldly   dream   dissolve,  the  seared   conscience 
ache  ! 


V. 

But  chiefly  theirs,  who  at  Thine  Altar  serve. 
And  for  the  soul's  elect  Thy  life-blood  pour ; 

O  grief  and  shame,  when  aged  pastors  swerve 
To  the  base  world  or  wild  schismatic  lore. 


54  Sacrilege. 

Alas,  too  lightly,  by  Thine  open  door, 
They  had  been  listening ;  not  within  the  shrine 

Kneeling  in  Christian  calmness  to  adore, 
Else  had  they  held  untired  by  Thee  and  Thine  : 
Nor  gain  nor  fancy  then  had  lured  them  from  Thy 
shrine. 

VI. 

Lord  of  a  world  in  years,  a  Church  decayed. 
If  from  Thy  whirlwind  answering,  as  of  old. 

Thou  with  the  vile  wilt  plead,  till  we  have  laid 
Our  hand  upon  our  mouth,  and  truly  told 
Our  tale  of  contrite  faith — (O  not  too  bold 

The  prayer) — then  welcome  whirlwind,  anger,  woe, 
Welcome  the  flash  that  wakes  the  slumbering  fold 

Th'  Almighty  Pastor's  arm  and  eye  to  know, 
And  turn  their  dreamy  talk  to  holy  Fear's  stern  glow. 


OTITED  STATES. 


"  Because  that  Tyrus  hath  said  against  Jerusalem,  Aha,  she  is 
broken  that  was  the  gates  of  the  people  :  she  is  turned  unto 
me  :  I  shall  be  replenished,  now  she  is  laid  waste  :  Therefore 
thus  saith  the  Lord  God;  Behold,  I  am  against  thee,  O  Tyrus." 
— Ezek.  xxvi.  2,  3. 


Tyre  of  the  farther  ^  West !  be  thou  too  warn'd 
Whose   eagle  wings  thine  own  green  world  o'er- 
spread, 
Touching  two  oceans  :  w^herefore  hast  thou  scorn'd 

Thy  father's  God,  O  proud  and  full  of  bread  ? 
AVhy  lies  the  Cross  unhonour'd  on  thy  ground, 

While  in  mid  air  thy  stars  and  arrows  flaunt  ? 
That  sheaf  of  darts,  will  it  not  fall  unbound, 
Except,  disrob'd  of  thy  vain  earthly  vaunt, 
TKou  bring  it  to  be  bless'd  where  Saints  and  Angels 
haunt  ? 


e  This  expression  ref.  rs  to  the  poem  which  immediately  preceded  it  in  the 
Lyra  Apostolica,  beginning  '« Tyre  of  the  West."  It  was  signed  6,  and  is 
reprinted  in  Dr.  NewTiian's  poem. 


56  United  States. 

The  holy  seed,  by  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 

Is  rooted  here  and  there  in  thy  dark  woods  ; 
But  many  a  rank  weed  round  it  grows  apace, 

And  Mammon  builds  beside  thy  mighty  floods, 
O'ertopping  Nature,  braving  Nature's  God. 

O  while  thou  yet  hast  room,  fair  fruitful  land. 
Ere  war  and  want  have  stain 'd  thy  virgin  sod, 

Mark  thee  a  place  on  high,  a  glorious  stand. 
Whence   Truth  her  sign   may  make  o'er  forest,  lake, 
and  strand. 


Eastward,  this  hour,  perchance  thou  turn'st  thine  ear. 

Listening  if  haply  with  the  surging  sea. 
Blend  sounds  of  Ruin  from  a  land  once  dear 

To  thee  and  Heaven.     O  trying  hour  for  thee  ! 
Tyre  mock'd  when  Salem  fell :  where  now  is  Tyre  t 

Heaven  was  against  her.     Nations  thick  as  waves 
Burst  o'er  her  walls,  to  ocean  doom'd  and  fire : 

And  now  the  tideless  water  idly  laves 
Her  towers,  and  lone   sands  heap  her  crowned  mer- 
chants' graves. 


CHAMPIONS  OF  THE  TETJTH. 

The  "Watchman. 

"  Who  ^vill  go  for  us  ?    Then  said  I,  Here  am  I ; 
send  me." — Isa.  vi.  8. 

Dull  thunders  moan  around  the  Temple  Rock, 

And  deep  in  hollow  caves,  far  underneath, 
The  lonely  watchman  feels  the  sullen  shock. 

His  footsteps  timing  as  the  low  mnds  breathe  ; 
Hark  !  from  the  Shrine  is  asked,  What  stedfast  heart 
Dares  in  the  storm  go  forth?    Who  takes  th'  Almighty's 
part  ? 


And  with  a  bold  gleam  flush'd,  flill  many  a  brow 

Is  rais'd  to  say,  "  Behold  me.  Lord,  and  send." 

But  ere  the  words  be  breathed,  some  broken  vow 

Remember'd,  ties  the  tongue;  and  sadly  blend 

With  Faith's  pure  incense,  clouds  of  conscience  dim 

And  faltering  tones  of  guilt  mar  the  Confessor's  h}'mn. 


THE  OEEED. 

If  waiting  by  the  time-crown'd  halls, 

Which  nurtur'd  us  for  Christ  in  youth, 
We  love  to  watch  on  the  grey  walls 

The  lingering  gleam  of  Evangelic  Truth  ; — 
If  to  the  spoilers  of  the  soul, 
Proudly  we  shew  our  banner'd  scroll, 
And  bid  them  our  old  war-cr^'  hear, 
"  God  is  my  Light  ^  :  whom  need  I  fear  !  " 

How  bleak,  that  hour,  across  our  purpose  high, 
Sweeps  the  chill  damping  shade  of  thoughtless  years 
gone  by ! 

How  count  we  then  lost  eve  and  morn, 
The  bell  unwelcom'd,  prayer  unsaid. 

And  holy  hours  and  days  outworn 
In  youth's  wild  race.  Sin's  lesson  newly  read  ! 

•>  "Dominus  illuminaliompa'"  is  the  motto  of  the  University  of  Oxford. 


The  Creed,  59 

Then  deem  we,  "ill  could  Angels  brook 
That  lore  that  on  our  lips  we  took, 
On  lips  profane  celestial  lore  : "' 
And  hardly  dare  we  keep  the  door, 
Thougli  sentries  sworn :   the  memor}'  tlirills  so  keen, 
How  with  unready  hearts  at  first  we  ventured  in. 


SPOLIATION. 

But  sadder  strains,  and  direr  bodings  dark, 
Come  haunting  round  th'  Almighty's  captive  ark, 
By  proud  PhiHstian  hosts  beset, 
With  axe  and  dagger  newly  whet 
To  hew  the  holy  gold  away. 
And  seize  their  portion  as  they  may. 
Fain  would  we  fix  th'  unswerving  foot,  and  bare 
The  strong  right  arm,  to  share. 
The  glorious  holy  war  ;  but  how  undo 
The  knot  our  father  tied  ?     Are  we  not  spoilers  too  ? 


How  for  God's  Altar  may  that  arm  be  bold. 
Where  cleaves  the  rust  of  sacrilege  of  old  ? 
Oh,  would  my  country  once  believe, 
But  once  her  contrite  bosom  heave. 
And  but  in  wish  or  vow  restore 
But  one  fair  shrine  despoil'd  of  yore  ! 


spoliation.  6i 

How  would  the  windows  of  th'  approving  sky 
Shower  down  the  dews  on  high  ! 
Arm'd  Levites  then,  within  the  Temple  dome, 
Might  we  the  foe  await,  nor  yet  profane  God's  home. 


Vain  disappointing  dream  !  but  oh  !  not  vain, 
If  haply  on  the  wakening  heart  remain 
The  vow  of  pure  self-sacrifice, 
The  conscience  yearning  to  devise 
How  God  may  have  His  treasure  lost. 
And  we  not  serve  Him  without  cost. 
To  such  methought  I  heard  an  Angel  say, 
"  Offer  not  all  to-day, 
"While  spoilers  keep  the  shrine  :  yet  offer  all, 
Treasurer   of  God's   high   cause  :  half  priestly   is  thy 
call.'' 


OHUEOH  Aro  KING. 


Nor  wants  there  Seraph  warnings,  morn  and  eve, 
And  oft  as  to  the  holiest  Shrine  we  bear 
Our  pure,  unbloody  gifts,  what  time  our  prayer 

In    Heaven's   sure   ward   all   Christian    kings    would 
leave. 

Why  should  that  prayer  be  faltering  ?  Wherefore  heave 
With  sadness  loyal  hearts,  when  hallow'd  air 
That  solemn  suffrage  hears  ?     Alas  !  our  care 

Is  not  for  storms  without,  but  stains  that  cleave 
Ingrain'd  in  memory,  wandering  thoughts  profane  ; 

Or  worse,  proud  thoughts  of  our  instructress  meek. 
The   duteous    Church,    Heaven-prompted    to    that 
strain. 

Thus,  when  high  mercy  for  our  King  we  seek, 

Back  on  our  wincing  hearts  our  prayers  are  blown 
By  our  own  sins,  worst  foes  to  England's  throne. 

And  with  our  own,  the  offences  of  our  land 
Too  well  agree  to  build  our  burthen  high, 

Christ's  charter  blurr'd  with  coarse,  usurping  hand, 


Church  and  King.  (^-^ 

And  gall'd  with  yoke  of  feudal  tyranny 
The  shoulders  where  the  keys  of  David  lie. 

Angel  of  England  !  who  might  thee  withstand  ? 
Who  for  the  spoil'd  and  trampled  Church  deny 

Thy  suit  in  Heaven's  high  courts,  might  one  true 
band 

Of  holy  brethren,  breathing  English  air, 

Be  found,  their  Cross  in  thine  array  to  bear, 
And  for  their  Mother  cast  earth's  dreams  away  ? 

Till  then,  all  gaily  as  our  pennons  glance. 

And  at  the  trumpet's  call  the  brave  heart  dance, 
In  fear  and  grief  for  Church  and  King  we  pray. 


oxroED. 

(Prom  Bagley,  at  8  A.  M.) 

The  flood  is  round  thee,  but  thy  towers  as  yet 
Are  safe,  and  clear  as  by  a  summer's  sea 
Pierce  the  calm  morning  mist,  serene  and  free, 
To  point  in  silence  heavenward.     There  are  met 
Thy  foster-children  ; — there  in  order  set 

Their  nursing  fathers,  sworn  to  Heaven  and  thee 
(An  oath  renewed  this  hour  on  bended  knee,) 
Ne'er  to  betray  their  Mother  nor  forget. — 
Lo  !  on  the  top  of  each  aerial  spire 
What  seems  a  star  by  day,  so  high  and  bright, 
It  quivers  from  afar  in  golden  light : 
But  'tis  a  form  of  earth,  though  touch 'd  with  fire 
Celestial,  rais'd  in  other  days  to  tell 
How,  when  they  tired  of  prayer.  Apostles  fell. 


riEE. 

Pajt  I. 

The  Lord  thy  God  is  a  consuming  fire." — Detit.  iv.  24. 

Nadab  and  Abilm. 

"  Away,  or  ere  the  Lord  break  forth ! 

The  pure  ethereal  air 
Cannot  abide  the  spark  of  earth, 

'Twill  lighten  and  not  spare." 

"  Nay,  but  we  know  our  call  divine, 

We  feel  our  hearts  sincere  j 
What  boots  it  where  we  light  our  shrine, 

If  bright  it  blaze  and  clear  ? " 

God  of  the  unconsuming  fire, 

On  Horeb  seen  of  old. 
Stay,  Jealous  One,  Thy  burning  ire  .    .   , 

It  may  not  be  controlled  ! 

E 


66  Fire. 

The  Lord  breaks  out,  the  unworthy  die ; 

Lo  !  on  the  cedar  floor 
The  robed  and  mitred  corses  lie — 

Be  silent  and  adore. 

Yet  sure  a  holy  seed  were  they, 
Pure  hands  had  o'er  them  past, 

Cuirass  and  crown,  their  bright  array, 
In  Heaven's  high  mould  were  cast. 

Th'  atoning  blood  had  drench'd  them  o'er, 
The  mystic  balm  had  seal'd  ; 

And  may  the  blood  atone  no  more, 
No  charm  the  anointing  yield  ? 

Silence,  ye  brethren  of  the  dead. 

Ye  Father's  tears,  be  still  \ 
But  choose  them  out  a  lonely  bed, 

Beside  the  mountain  rill ; 

Then  bear  them  as  they  lie,  their  brows 
Scath'd  with  the  avenging  fire, 

And  wearing  (sign  of  broken  vows) 
The  blest,  the  dread  attire. 


Fire.  67 


Nor  leave  unwept  their  desert  grave, 
But  mourn  their  pride  and  thine, 

Oft  as  rebellious  thought  shall  crave 
To  question  words  divine. 


TEE  BUENIlfG  AT  TABEEAE 

The  fire  of  Heaven  breaks  forth, 
When  haughty  Reason  pries  too  near, 
Weighing  th'  eternal  mandate's  worth 
In  philosophic  scales  of  earth. 
Selecting  these  for  scorn,  and  those  for  holy  fear. 

Nor  burns  it  only  then  : 
The  poor  that  are  not  poor  in  heart, — 
Who  say,  "  The  bread  of  Christian  men. 
We  loathe  it,  o'er  and  o'er  again," — 
The  murmurers  in  the  camp,  must  feel  the  blazing  dart 

Far  from  the  Lord's  tent-door. 
And  therefore  bold  to  sin,  are  they : 

"What  should  we  know  of  Faith's  high  lore  ?" 
Oh !  plead  not  so — there's  wrath  in  store, 
And  temper'd  to  our  crimes  the  lightnings  find  their 
way. 


KOEAH,  DATHAIT,  AND  ABIRAM. 


Dathan  and  Abiram. 


"  How  long  endure  this  priestly  scorn, 

Ye  sons  of  Israel's  eldest  born  ? 

Shall  t\vo,  the  meanest  of  their  tribe, 

To  the  Lord's  host  the  way  prescribe, 

And  feed  our  wildering  phantasy 

With  every  soothing  dream  and  lie 

Their  craft  can  coin  ?     We  see  our  woe, 

Lost  Egypt's  plenty  well  we  know : 

But  where  the  milk  and  honey  ? — where 

The  promised  fields  and  vineyards  fair  ? 

Lo  !  wise  of  heart  and  keen  of  sight 

Are  these — ye  cannot  blind  them  quite — 

Not  as  our  sires  are  we :  we  fear  not  open  light." 


70  Korahj  Dathan^  and  Abiram. 


Korah. 

"And  we  too,  Levites  though  we  be, 
We  love  the  song  of  Hberty. 
Did  we  not  hear  the  Mountain  Voice 
Proclaim  the  Lord's  impartial  choice? 
The  camp  is  holy,  great  and  small, 
Levites  and  Danites,  one  and  all  j 
Our  God  His  home  in  all  will  make. — 
What  if  no  priestly  finger  strake 
Or  blood  or  oil  o'er  robe  or  brow, 
Will  He  not  hear  His  people's  vow  ? 
Lord  of  all  Earth,  will  He  no  sign 
Grant  but  to  Aaron's  haughty  line  ? 
Our  censers  are  as  yours  :   we  dare  you  to  the  shrine." 

Thus  spake  the  proud  at  prime  of  mom ; 

Where  was  their  place  at  eve  ?    Ye  know 
Rocks  of  the  wild  in  sunder  torn. 

And  altars  scath'd  with  fires  of  woe ! 
Earth  heard  and  sank,  and  they  were  gone ; 
Only  their  dismal  parting  groan 

The  shuddering  ear  long  time  will  haunt. 


Korah,  Dathan^  and  Abiram,  71 

Thus  rebels  fare  :  but  ye  profane, 
Who  dared  th'  anointing  Power  disdain 

For  freedom's  rude  unpriestly  vaunt, 
Dire  is  the  fame  for  you  in  store  : 
Your  molten  censers  evermore 

Th'  atoning  altar  must  inlay ; 
Memorial  to  the  kneeling  quires 
That  Mercy's  God  hath  judgment  fires 

For  high-voiced  Korahs  in  their  day. 


ELIJAH  AND  THE  MESSENGEKS  OP  AHAZIAH. 


Oh  !  surely  Scorner  is  his  name, 
Who  to  the  Church  will  errands  bring 
From  a  proud  world  or  impious  king, 

And,  without  fear  or  shame. 
In  mockery  own  them  "  men  of  God," 
O'er  whom  lie  gaily  shakes  the  miscreant  spoiler's  rod. 


But  if  we  be  God's  own  indeed. 
Then  is  there  fire  in  heaven,  be  sure, 
And  bolts  deep-wounding,  without  cure, 

For  the  blasphemer's  seed  ; — 
Wing'd  are  they  all,  and  aim'd  on  high. 
Against  the  hour  when  Christ  shall  hear  His  martyrs' 
cry. 


Elijah  and  the  Messengers  of  Ahaziah.         73 

Oh  !  tell  me  not  of  royal  hosts  ; — 
One  hermit,  strong  in  fast  and  prayer, 
Shall  gird  his  sackcloth  on,  and  scare 

"Whatever  the  vain  earth  boasts  j 
And  thunder-stricken  chiefs  return 
To  tell  their  Lord  how  dire  the  Church's  lightnings 
burn. 


riEE. 

Part  n. 
"  Our  God  is  a  consuming  fire." — Hebr.  xii,  29. 

The  Samaritans  spared. 

And  dare  ye  deem  God's  ire  must  cease 

In  Christ's  new  realm  of  peace  ? 
'Tis  true,  beside  the  scorner's  gate 
The  Lord  long-suffering  deign'd  to  wait, 

Nor  on  the  guilty  town 
Call'd  the  stern  fires  of  old  Elijah  down  : 

A  victim,  not  a  judge.  He  came. 
With  His  own  blood  to  slake  th'  avenging  flame. 

Now,  by  those  hands  so  rudely  rent 

The  bow  of  Heaven  is  bent ; 
And  ever  and  anon  His  darts 
Find  out  e'en  here  the  faithless  hearts, 


Fire,  75 

Now  gliding  silently, 
Now  rushing  loud,  and  blazing  broad  and  high, 

A  shower  or  ere  that  final  storm 
Leave  earth  a  molten  ocean  without  form. 

True  Love,  all  gentle  though  she  be, 

Hath  eyes,  the  wrath  to  see : 
Nor  may  she  fail  in  faith  to  pray 
For  hastening  of  Redemption's  day. 

Though  with  the  triumph  come 
Forebodings  of  the  dread  unchanging  doom : — 

Though  with  the  Saints'  pure  lambent  light 
Fires  of  more  lurid  hue  mysteriously  unite. 


JULIAN. 

Dread  glimpses,  e'en  in  gospel  times,  have  been  ; 

Nor  was  the  holy  Household  mute, 
Nor  did  she  not  th'  Avenger's  march  salute 
With  somewhat  of  exulting  mien. — 
Angel  harps  !  of  you  full  well 
That  measure  stern 
The  Church  might  learn 
When  th'  apostate  Caesar  fell  ; — 
Proud  champion  he,  and  wise  beyond  the  rest, 
His  shafts  not  at  the  Church,  but  at  her  Lord  addrest. 

What  will  He  do,  the  Anointed  One  on  high, 
Now  that  hell-powers  and  powers  of  Rome 
Are  banded  to  reverse  His  foemen's  doom. 
And  mar  His  Sovereign  Majesty? 
Seers  in  Paradise  enshrin'd  ! 
Your  glories  now 
Must  quail  and  bow 
To  th'  high-reaching  force  of  mind — 


yulian.  77 

Vainly  o'er  Salem  rolls  your  dooming  tone  : 
Her  sons  have  heard,  this  hour,  a  mightier  trumpet 
blown. 


The  foes  of  Christ  are  gathering,  sworn  to  build 

Where  he  had  sworn  to  waste  and  mar ; 
Plummet  and  line,  arms  of  old  Babel's  war. 
Are  ready  round  Moriah's  field. — 
But  the  clouds  that  lightning  breathe 
Were  ready  too 
And,  bursting  through, 
Billows  from  the  wrath  beneath. 
For  Christ  and  for  His  Seers  so  keenly  wrought, 
They  half  subdued  to   faith  the  proud   man's  dying 
thought. 


THE  PALL  OF  BABYLON. 

But  louder  yet  the  heavens  shall  ring, 
And  brighter  gleam  each  Seraph's  wing, 

When,  doom'd  of  old  by  every  Prophet's  lyre, 
Theme  of  the  Saints'  appealing  cry. 
While  underneath  the  shrine  they  lie, 

Proud  Babel  in  her  hour  sinks  in  her  sea  of  fire. 

While  worldlings  from  afar  bemoan 

The  shatter'd  Antichristian  throne. 
The  golden  idol  bruis'd  to  summer  dust — 

"  Where  are  her  gems  ? — her  spices,  where  ? 

Tower,  dome,  and  arch,  so  proud  and  fair — 
Confusion  is  their  name — the  name  of  all  earth's 


The  while  for  joy  and  victory 
Seers  and  Apostles  sing  on  high, 


The  Fall  of  Babylon.  79 

Chief  the  bright  pair  who  rest  in  Roman  earth  : 
Fall'n  Babel  well  their  lays  may  earn, 
Whose  triumph  is  when  souls  return, 

Who  o'er  relenting  pride  take  part  in  angels'  mirth. 


DIYIKE  WEATH. 

Thus  evermore  the  Saints'  avenging  God 

With  His  dread  fires  hath  scath'd  th'  unholy  ground ; 
Nor  wants  there,  waiting  round  th'  uphfted  rod, 

Watchers  in  heaven  and  earth,  aye  faithful  found. 


God's  armies,  open-eyed  His  aim  attend. 

Wondering  how  oft  these  warning  notes  will  peal, 

Ere  the  great  trump  be  blown,  the  Judge  descend  : 
Man  only  wears  cold  look  and  heart  of  steel. 


Age  after  age,  where  Antichrist  hath  reign'd 
Some  flame-tipt  arrow  of  th'  Almighty  falls. 

Imperial  cities  lie  in  heaps  profan'd. 

Fire  blazes  .round  apostate  council-halls. 


Divine  Wrath.  8i 

And  if  the  world  sin  on,  yet  here  and  there 

Some  proud  soul  cowers,  some  scorner  learns  to 
pray; 

Some  slumberer  rouses  at  the  beacon  glare. 
And  trims  his  waning  lamp,  and  waits  for  day. 


COMMUNE  PONTHIOUM. 

Calling. 

"  At  evening,  being  the  first  day  of  the  week,  the  doors  were 
shut  where  the  disciples  were  assembled  for  fear  of  the  Jews." — 
St.  John  XX.  19. 

"  Are  the  gates  sure  ? — is  every  bolt  made  fast } 

No  dangerous  whisper  wandering  through — 
Dare  we  breathe  calm,  and  unalarm'd  forecast 

Our  calls  to  suffer  or  to  do  ? " 
O  ye  of  little  faith  !  twelve  hours  ago, 

He  whom  ye  mourn,  by  power  unbound 
The  bonds  ye  fear  ;  nor  sealed  stone  below 

Barred  Him,  nor  mailbd  guards  around. 

The  Lord  is  risen  indeed  !  His  own  have  seen. 
They  who  denied,  have  seen  His  face. 

Weeping  and  spared.     Shall  loyal  hearts  not  lean 
Upon  His  outstretch'd  arm  of  grace  ? 


Commune  Pontificum.  83 

Shine  in  your  orbs,  ye  stars  of  God's  new  heaven, 

Or  gather'd  or  apart,  shine  clear  ! 
Far,  far  beneath  the  opposing  mists  are  driven, 

The  Invisible  is  waiting  near. 


TOKENS, 


*'  Jesus  came  and  stood  in  the  midst,  and  saith  unto  them, 
Peace  be  unto  you.  And  when  He  had  so  said,  He  shewed  them 
His  hands  and  His  side.  Then  were  the  disciples  glad  when 
they  saw  the  Lord." — Si.  John  xx.  19,  20. 


Is  He  not  near  ? — look  up  and  see  : 
Peace  on  His  lips,  and  in  His  hands  and  side 
The  wounds  of  love.      He  stays  the  trembling  knee, 

Nerves  the  frail  arm,  His  ark  to  guide. 

Is  He  not  near  ?     O  trust  His  seal 
Baptismal,  yet  uncancell'd  on  thy  brow  ; 
Trust  the  kind  love  His  holy  months  reveal, 
Oft  as  His  altar  hears  thy  deep  heart-searching  vow. 


And  trust  the  calm,  the  joy  benign, 
That  o'er  the  obedient  breathes  in  life's  still  hour. 
When  Sunday  lights  with  summer  airs  combine. 

And  shadows  blend  from  cloud  and  bower. 


Tokens.  85 

And  trust  the  wrath  of  Jesus'  foes  ; 
They  feel  Him  near,  and  hate  His  mark  on  you  ; 
O  take  their  word,  ye  whom  He  lov'd  and  chose  ! 
Be  joyful  in  your  King  j  the  rebels  own  you  true. 


SEALS. 

Then  said  Jesus  unto  them  again,  Peace  be  unto  you :  as  My 
Father  hath  sent  Me,  so  send  I  you." — S^.  John  xx.  21. 

And  shrink  ye  still  ? — He  nearer  draws, 
And  to  his  mission  and  His  cause 
Welcomes  His  own  with  words  of  grace  and  might : 
"  Peace  be  to  you  !  " — their  peace,  who  stand 
In  sentry  with  God's  sword  in  hand, 
The  peace  of  Christ's  lov'd  champions  warring  in  His 
sight. 


"  Peace  be  to  you  !  " — their  peace,  who  feel 
E'en  as  the  Son  the  Father's  seal, 
So  they  the  Son's  ;  each  in  his  several  sphere 
Gliding  on  fearless  angel  wing, 
One  heart  in  all,  one  hope,  one  King, 
Each  an  Apostle  true,  a  crowned  and  robed  seer. 


Seals.  87 

Sent  as  the  Father  sent  the  Son, 
'Tis  not  for  you  to  swerve  nor  shun 
Or  power  or  peril ;  ye  must  go  before  : 
If  caught  in  the  fierce  bloody  shower, 
Think  on  your  Lord's  overwhelming  hour  ; 
Are  ye  not  priests  to  Him  who  the  world's  forfeit 
bore  ? 

Throned  in  His  Church  till  He  return, 
Why  should  ye  fear  to  judge  and  spurn  ^ 
This  evil  world,  chain'd  at  His  feet  and  yours  ? 
Why  with  dejected  faltering  air 
Your  rod  of  more  than  empire  bear  ? 
Your  brows  are  royal  yet ;  God's  unction  aye  en- 
dures. 

I  Vide  Eev.  iL  26—28,  which  is  also  addressed  to  a  Christian  Bishop. 


GUTS, 


And  having  said  this,  He  breathed  on  them,  and  saith  unto 
them.  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Ghost." — St.  Johti  xx.  22. 


By  your  Lord's  creative  breath. 
Breathing  hope,  and  scorn  of  death  ; 
Love  untired,  on  pardon  leaning, 
Joy,  all  mercies  sweetly  gleaning ; 
Zeal,  the  bolts  of  Heaven  to  dart. 
Fragrant  purity  of  heart ; 
By  the  voice  ineffable, 
Wakening  your  mazed  thoughts  with  an  Almighty 
spell  \ 

By  His  word,  and  by  His  hour 
When  the  promise  came  with  power, — 
By  His  Holy  Spirit's  token, 
By  His  saintly  chain  unbroken, 


Gifts.  89 

Lengthening,  while  the  world  lasts  on, 
From  His  cross  unto  His  throne, — 
Guardians  of  His  virgin  spouse  ! 
Know  that  His  might  is  yours,  whose  breathing  sealed 
your  vows. 


AEMS. 


"  Whosesoever  sins  ye  remit,  they  are  remitted  unto  them  ; 
and  whosesoever  sins  ye  retain,  they  are  retained." — St.  John 
XX.  23. 


Behold  your  annoury  : — sword  and  lightning  shaft, 

Cuird  from  the  stores  of  God's  all-judging  ire, 
And  in  your  wielding  left !  The  words,  that  waft 

Power  to  your  voice  absolving,  point  with  fire 
Your  awful  curse.      O  grief!    should  Heaven's  dread 

Sire 
Have  stayed,  for  you,  the  mercy-dews  of  old 
Vouchsafed,  when  pastors'  arms  in  deep  desire 
Were  spread  on  high  to  bless  the  kneeling  fold ! 
If  censure  sleep,  will  absolution  hold  ? 

Will  the  great  King  affirm  their  acts  of  grace. 
Who  careless  leave  to  cankering  rust  and  mould 

The  flaming  sword  that  should  the  unworthy  chase 
From  his  pure  Eden  1     O  beware  !  lest  vain 
Their  sentence  to  remit.,  who  never  dare  retain. 


THE  DTNOOEITTS'  DAY'". 


In  Ramah  was  there  a  voice  heard,  lamentation  and 
weeping,  and  great  mourning." — St.  Matt.  ii.  i8. 


Bethlehem,  above  all  cities  blest ! 
Th'  Incarnate  Saviour's  earthly  rest, 
Where  in  His  manger  safe  He  lay. 
By  angels  guarded  night  and  day. 


Bethlehem,  of  cities  most  forlorn. 
Where  in  the  dust  sad  mothers  mourn, 
Nor  see  the  heavenly  glory  shed 
On  each  pale  infant's  martyT'd  head. 


1"  This  and  the  three  next  poems  are  printed  in  the  '•  Child's  Christian 
Year." 


104  ^^  Innocents^  Day. 

'Tis  ever  thus :  who  Christ  would  win, 
Must  in  the  school  of  woe  begin  ; 
And  still  the  nearest  to  His  grace, 
Know  least  of  their  own  glorious  place. 


"  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  God." — St.  Luke  xviii.  i6. 


PIEST  SUNDAY  AFTEE  EASTEE. 


"  And  there  are  three  that  bear  witness  in  earth — the  Spirit, 
and  the  Water,  and  the  Blood ;  and  these  three  agree  in  one." 

I  Sf.  John  V.  8. 


Our  God  in  glory  sits  on  high : 

Man  may  not  see  and  live  : 
Yet  witness  of  Himself  on  earth 

For  ever  does  He  give. 

His  Spirit  dwells  in  all  good  hearts  ; 

All  precious  fruits  of  love, 
Thoughts,  words,  and  works,  made  holy,  bear 

His  witness  from  above. 

The  Baptism  waters  have  not  ceas'd 
To  spread  His  Xame,  since  first 

From  the  Redeemer's  wounded  Side 
The  holy  fountain  burst. 


io6  First  Sunday  after  Easter, 

That  other  stream  of  endless  Hfe, 

His  all-atoning  Blood  : 
Is  it  not  still  our  Cup  of  Grace  ? 

His  Flesh,  our  spirits'  food  ? 

O  !  never  may  our  sinful  hearts, 
What  Thou  hast  joined,  divide ! 

Thy  Spirit  in  Thy  mysteries  still 
For  life,  not  death,  abide ! 

Epistle. 


What  therefore  God  hath  joined  together,  let  not  man  put 
asunder." — St.  Matt.  xix.  6. 


TENTH  SUNDAY  AFTEE  TEINITY. 

"  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings  Thou  hast 
perfected  praise." — St.  Matt.  xxi.  i6. 

Lo !  from  the  Eastern  hills  the  Lord 

Descends  in  lowly  state  ; 
Let  us  go  out  \vith  one  accord, 

And  where  He  passes,  wait. 

Prepare,  with  willing  hearts  and  true, 
Glad  hymn  and  garland  gay  : 

0  joy !  if  He  should  look  on  you. 
And  with  His  kind  voice  say, — 

"  I  hear  thee,  and  it  is  My  will. 
By  thee  to  perfect  praise  ; 

1  have  a  place  for  thee  to  fill. 

Have  mark'd  thy  times  and  ways  ; 

"  I,  in  the  music  of  the  blest. 

To  thee  a  part  assign, 
Only  do  thou  sing  out  thy  best, — 

I  call  thee,  be  thou  Mine." 


io8  Tenth  Sunday  after  Trijtity. 

Thine  heart  would  beat  full  high,  I  know 

If  Jesus,  on  His  way, 
Had  turn'd  aside  to  greet  thee  so, 

Thy  very  soul  would  pray. 

But  mark  Him  well  one  moment  more. 

Behold,  the  Saviour  weeps  ; 
He  weeps  while  heaven  and  earth  adore 

Through  all  eternal  deeps. 

\Vhy  weeps  He  ?  for  His  people's  sin, 

And  for  thy  follies  all : 
For  each  bad  dream  thine  heart  within. 

Those  tears  the  bitterer  fall. 

Gospel. 

"■  Teach  me  Thy  way,  O  Lord,  and  I  will  walk  in  Thy  truth ; 
O  knit  my  heart  unto  Thee,  that  I  may  fear  Thy  Name." — 
Fs.  Ixxxvi.  II. 


SIXTEENTH  SUKDAY  AETEE  TEINITY. 


"  And  you  hath  he  quickened,  who  were  dead  in  trespasses 
and  sins." — Eph.  ii.  i. 


When  Christ  to  village  comes  or  town, 
With  priests  that  on  Him  wait, 

The  Church  her  living  dead  lays  down 
Before  Him  in  the  gate. 


For  whoso  know  His  will,  and  yet 
Have  stolen,  sworn,  or  lied. 

In  His  dread  book  their  sin  is  set, 
That  hour,  to  Him,  they  died. 

What  if  thou  be  but  young  in  years, 

A  boy,  or  simple  maid. 
Yet  in  His  sight  thy  soul  appears 

A  corse  for  burial  laid. 


no  Sixteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity. 

Thy  sins,  from  His  own  holy  place 

Are  bearing  thee  away, 
But  He  may  touch  the  bier,  His  grace 

May  bid  thee  rise  and  pray. 

The  Church,  thy  mother,  weeps  for  thee, 
Her  tearful  prayer  perchance 

May  win  the  word  of  pardon,  He 
May  break  the  deadly  trance. 

Only  do  thou  sit  up  and  speak 
Soon  as  thou  hear'st  His  call. 

Him  honour  with  confession  meek, 
He  will  forgive  thee  all. 

Gospel. 


"  Awake  thou  that  sleepest,  and  arise  from  the  dead,  and 
Christ  shall  give  thee  light.'  — Eph.  v.  14. 


ST.  JOHN'S  DAT°. 


"  He  then,  lying  on  Jesus'  breast." — Sf.  John  xiii.  25. 
"  And  I,  John,  saw  these  things  and  heard  them." — Rev.  xxii. 


Word  supreme,  before  creation 

Born  of  God  eternally, 
Who  didst  will  for  our  salvation, 

To  be  born  on  earth,  and  die ; 
Well  Thy  saints  have  kept  their  station, 

Watching  till  Thine  hour  drew  nigh. 


Now  'tis  come,  and  faith  espies  Thee, 
Like  an  eaglet  in  the  morn. 

One  in  stedfast  worship  eyes  Thee, 
Thy  belov'd.  Thy  latest  born  : 

In  Thy  glory  He  descries  Thee 
Reigning  from  the  tree  of  scorn. 


>'  This,  and  the  three  next  poems,  are  from  the  Salisbury  Hymnal. 


112  St  Johfi's  Day. 

He  upon  Thy  bosom  lying 

Thy  true  tokens  learn'd  by  heart ; 

And  Thy  dearest  pledge  in  dying 
Lord,  Thou  didst  to  him  impart. — 

Shew'dst  him  how,  all  grace  supplying, 
Blood  and  water  from  Thee  start. 


He  first,  hoping  and  believing, 
Did  beside  the  grave  adore  ; 

Latest  he,  the  warfare  leaving, 
Landed  on  the  eternal  shore  ; 

And  his  witness  we  receiving 
Own  Thee  Lord  for  evermore. 


Much  he  ask'd  in  loving  wonder, 
On  Thy  bosom  leaning.  Lord  ! 

In  that  secret  place  of  thunder. 
Answer  kind  didst  Thou  accord. 

Wisdom  for  Thy  Church  to  ponder 
Till  the  day  of  dread  award. 


St  yohn's  Day.  113 

Lo  !  Heaven's  doors  lift  up,  revealing 
How  Thy  judgments  earthward  move  ; 

Scrolls  unfolded,  trumpets  pealing, 
Wine-cups  from  the  wrath  above. 

Yet  o'er  all  a  soft  Voice  stealing — 
"  Little  children,  tiiist  and  love  !  " 

Thee,  the  Almighty  King  eternal, 

Father  of  the  eternal  Word  j 
Thee,  the  Father's  Word  supernal. 

Thee,  of  both,  the  breath  adored  ; 
Heaven  and  earth,  and  realms  infernal 

Own,  One  glorious  God  and  Lord.     Amen. 


Hursley,  April  ig,  1856. 


HARVEST. 

"  Thou  visitest  the  earth  and  blessest  it,  Thou  makest  it 
very  plenteous." — Fs.  Ixv.  9. 


Lord  in  Thy  Name  Thy  servants  plead, 
And  Thou  hast  sworn  to  hear ; 

Thine  is  the  harvest,  Thine  the  seed. 
The  fresh  and  fading  year : 

Our  hope,  when  Autumn  winds  blew  wild. 
We  trusted,  Lord,  with  Thee  j 

And  still,  now  Spring  has  on  us  smiled, 
We  wait  on  Thy  decree. 

The  former  and  the  latter  rain. 

The  summer  sun  and  air. 
The  green  ear,  and  the  golden  grain, 

'All  Thine,  are  ours  by  prayer. 


Harvest.  115 

Thine  too  by  right,  and  ours  by  grace, 

The  wondrous  growth  unseen, 
The  hopes  that  soothe,  the  fears  that  brace. 

The  love  that  shines  serene. 

So  grant  the  precious  things  brought  forth 

By  sun  and  moon  below. 
That  Thee  in  Thy  new  heaven  and  earth 

We  never  may  forego. 

Malvern,  Aug.  4,  1856. 


EASTEK  EVE. 


He  went  and  preached  unto  the  spirits  in  prison." 

I  Pet.  iii.  19. 


Father  and  Lord  of  our  whole  life, 
As  Thine  our  burden  and  our  strife, 
As  Thine  it  was  to  die  and  rise. 
So  Thine  the  grave  and  Paradise. 

Lord  of  the  eternal  Sabbath-day, 
Lo,  at  Thy  tomb  for  rest  we  pray  : 
Here,  rest  from  our  own  work  ;  and  there. 
The  perfect  rest  with  Thee  to  share. 

True  God,  true  Flesh  of  Mary  made. 
In  a  true  grave  for  sinners  laid. 
With  Thee  this  mortal  frame  we  trust ; 
O  guard  and  glorify  our  dust ! 


Easter  Eve, 

Soul  of  the  Lord,  so  freely  breathed, 
And  to  the  Father's  hands  bequeathed. 
Draw  us  with  heart's  desire  to  Thee, 
When  we  among  the  dead  are  free. 

Dread  Preacher,  who  to  fathers  old 
Didst  wonders  in  the  gloom  unfold  ; 
Thy  perfect  creed  O  may  we  learn 
In  Eden,  waiting  Thy  return. 

They  saw  Thy  day,  and  heard  Thy  voice. 
And  in  Thy  glory  did  rejoice ; 
And  Thou  didst  break  their  prison-bars. 
And  lead  them  high  above  the  stars. 

"Captivity  led  captive  "  then 
Was  sung  by  angels  and  by  men  : 
Grant  us  the  same  to  sing  by  faith. 
Both  now,  and  at  the  hour  of  death. 

Our  souls  and  bodies,  Lord,  receive 
To  Thine  own  blessed  Easter-eve  : 
All  our  belov'd  in  mercy  keep. 
As  one  by  one  they  fall  asleep. 


117 


ii8  Easter  Eve. 

To  Thee,  who,  dead,  again  dost  live, 
All  glory,  Lord,  Thy  people  give, 
With  the  dread  Father,  as  is  meet, 
And  the  eternal  Paraclete.     Amen. 

Llandudno^  Aug.  14,  1856. 


HOLY  MATKIMONT. 
To  be  sung  at  the  Oommencement  of  the  Semce. 
"A  threefold  cord  is  not  quickly  broken. — Eccles.  iv.  12. 

The  voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden, 

That  earUest  wedding-day, 
The  primal  marriage  blessing. 

It  hath  not  passed  away. 


Still  in  the  pure  espousal 
Of  Christian  man  and  maid, 

The  holy  Three  are  with  us, 
The  threefold  grace  is  said. 

For  dower  of  blessed  children, 
For  love  and  faith's  sweet  sake, 

For  high  mysterious  union. 

Which  nought  on  earth  may  break. 


I20  Holy  Matrimony. 

Be  present,  awful  Father, 
To  give  away  this  bride, 

As  Eve  Thou  gav'st  to  Adam 
Out  of  his  own  pierced  side 


Be  present,  Son  of  Mary, 
To  join  their  loving  hands, 

As  Thou  didst  bind  two  natures 
In  Thine  eternal  bands  : 


Be  present,  Holiest  Spirit, 
To  bless  them  as  they  kneel. 

As  Thou  for  Christ,  the  Bridegroom, 
The  heavenly  Spouse  dost  seal. 


O  spread  Thy  pure  wing  o'er  them, 
Let  no  ill  power  find  place, 

When  onward  to  Thine  altar 
The  hallowed  path  they  trace, 


Holy  Matrimony.  121 

To  cast  their  crowns  before  Thee 

In  perfect  sacrifice, 
Till  to  the  home  of  gladness 

With  Christ's  own  Bride  they  rise.     Amen. 


July  12,  1857. 


TEANSLATIONS  OP  ANCIENT  OHUEOH 
HYMNS. 

"  Sonmo  Eefectis  Aitubus." 
(For  an  early  Morning  Service.) 

Sleep  has  refresh'd  our  limbs :  we  spring 
Out  of  our  beds,  as  men  in  fear  : 

Look  on  us,  Father,  while  we  sing  ; 
We  pray  Thee,  be  Thou  very  near. 

Be  Thou  the  first  in  every  tongue ; 

Thine  be  each  heart's  first  loving  glow 
That  all  its  doings,  all  day  long, 

O,  holy  One,  from  Thee  may  flow. 

Let  darkness  to  the  glory  yield, 
And  gloom  unto  the  star  of  day  ; 

So  may  night's  ill  be  purged  and  heal'd 
By  gift  of  Thy  celestial  ray. 


Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns.         123 

So  may  night's  harm  (this  too  we  ask 
In  humble  prayer)  be  hewn  away  : 

So  praise  may  be  our  endless  task, 
E'en  as  we  hymn  Thee,  Lord,  to-day. 


"  JAM  LUCIS  OETO  SIDEEE." 

The  Star  of  day  hath  risen,  and  we 
Must  pray  our  God  on  bended  knee 
From  all  our  doings,  all  this  day, 
To  chase  and  keep  ill  powers  away. 

The  tongue  to  tune,  and  bridle  in 
From  Discord's  harsh,  unpitying  din  : 
With  soothing  hand  to  screen  the  sight 
From  eager  gleams  of  vain  delight. 

Pure  be  the  secrets  of  the  heart, 
Unruly  will,  stand  thou  apart. 
The  proud  flesh  bruise  we,  and  control 
By  meat  and  drink  in  measured  dole. 


That  when  the  day  departs,  and  we 
In  course  again  the  dim  night  see. 
By  self-denial  clean,  we  may 
His  glory  sing  to  whom  we  pray. 


Translations  of  Aficient  Church  Hymns.        125 

To  God  the  Father  glory  be, 
And  glor}',  Only  Son,  to  Thee  ; 
With  the  most  holy  Paraclete, 
Now  and  for  ever,  as  is  meet. 


"NOOTE  SUEaENTES." 

Watch  us  by  night,  with  one  accord  uprising, 
Psalms  in  due  course  our  meditation  always, 
Hymns  strong  and  sweet  in  all  their  might  and 
softness 

Sing  on,  adoring. 

So  to  Love's  King  our  melodies  combining, 
We  may  find  grace  with  all  the  saints  to  enter 
Love's  palace  hall,  the  blessed  life  among  them 

There  to  inherit. 

Such  be  our  boon  from  Thee,  Thou  blessed  Godhead  I 
Father,  and  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  co-equal. 
Grant  it  alike,  as  through  the  world  Thy  glory 
Rings  undivided. 


"NOTO  SANOTE." 


E'en  now  vouchsafe,  Good  Spirit,  One 
Both  with  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
Into  our  hearts  Thyself  to  pour, 
A  treasure  heap'd  and  running  o'er. 


Eye,  soul,  tongue,  mind,  with  all  your  might 
In  tones  of  perfect  praise  unite  ! 
Celestial  Love,  break  out  and  blaze. 
Touch  all  around  with  living  rays  ! 


Father  of  Love,  this  boon  confer, 
And  Thou,  co-equal  only  Son, 

And  Holy  Ghost  the  Comforter, 
For  ever  reigning,  Three  in  One. 


''EEOTOE  POTENS." 

(Sixth  Hour.) 

Strong  Ruler,  God  whose  word  is  truth, 
Who  ordering  all  things  and  their  change, 
With  brightness  dost  the  morn  array, 
And  with  Thy  fires  the  noontide  hour. 

Quench  Thou  the  flame,  where'er  is  strife, 
Take  all  our  harmful  heat  away ; 
Health  to  our  mortal  bodies  give. 
And  to  our  souls  true  peace  of  heart. 

Grant  it,  O  Father  of  all  Love, 
And  Thou,  co-equal  only  son, 
Who  reignest  through  all  ages  with 
The  Holy  Ghost  the  Comforter.     Amen. 


"KEEUM  DEUS." 
(Ninth  Hour.) 

O  God,  th'  enduring  might  of  things, 
Abiding  in  Thyself  unmoved, 
Who  measurest  out  each  time  and  tide 
By  changing  lights  from  day  to  day  j 

Lord,  grant  it  clear  at  eventide 
That  life  may  never  fade,  nor  fall, 
But  everlasting  brightness  dawn 
At  once — true  meed  of  holy  death. 

Grant  it,  O  Father  of  all  Love, 
And  Thou,  co-equal  only  Son, 
Who  reignest  through  all  ages  with 
The  Holy  Ghost  the  Comforter.     Amen. 


"LUOIS  OEEATOK  OPTIME." 
(For  Sunday  Evening  <=.) 

Thou,  Light's  Creator,  first  and  best, 
By  whom  new  days  in  Hght  are  drest. 
The  young  world  making  glad  and  bright 
By  gleaming  of  that  earliest  light : 

Whose  wisdom  joined  in  meet  array 
The  morn  and  eve,  and  named  them  Day  :- 
Night  glideth  on  in  dim,  dark  air, — 
Regard  Thy  people's  tearful  prayer ! 

Lest  sin-bound  souls  with  Thee  at  strife. 
Prove  outcasts  from  the  gift  of  life  ; 
While  thinking  but  of  earth  and  time 
They  weave  them  still  new  chains  of  crime. 

O  may  we  knock  at  Heaven's  dread  door. 
And  win  the  wreath  that  fades  no  more  ! 
Shun  harms  without,  clear  hearts  within 
Of  all  their  worst,  their  haunting  sin. 

c  Altered  from  the  "Hymnal  Xoteil." 


Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns.  133 

Father,  do  Thou  this  boon  accord, 
Through  Jesus  Christ,  Thy  Son,  our  Lord ! 
Who  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  Thee, 
Dost  Hve  and  reign  eternally. 


"  SALYETE  FLOEES  MAETYEUM." 
(Holy  Innocents.) 

Hail,  Martyr-flowers,  who  gleaming  forth, 
Just  on  the  edge  of  your  brief  day. 

By  Christ's  keen  foe  were  swept  from  earth, 
As  rosebuds  by  the  whirlwind's  sway ! 

The  first-fruits  unto  Christ  are  ye, 
His  lambs  new-slain,  a  tender  sort. 

E'en  by  the  shrine  in  childlike  glee 

Ye  with  your  palms  and  garlands  sport. 

Ah !  what  avails  so  dire  a  doom  ? 

What  boots  the  stain  on  Herod's  soul  ? 
The  One  of  many  'scapes  the  tomb, 

The  Christ  is  gone,  unharm'd  and  whole. 

Far  from  their  streaming  blood  who  shared 
His  birth-hour.  He  at  rest  is  laid  : 

The  Virgin-born  that  steel  hath  spared 
Which  many  a  matron  childless  made. 


Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns.         135 

So  did  one  child  of  yore  elude 
The  wild  laws  of  the  wicked  king, 

With  likeness  of  the  Christ  endued, 
Ordain'd  His  people  home  to  bring. 


"CULTOK  DEI  MEMENTO." 

Servant  of  God,  remember 
The  drops  thy  brow  bedewing 

From  holy  font,  and  laver, 
The  unction  thee  renewing. 

See,  that  on  brow  and  bosom. 
When  gentle  sleep  is  calling. 

The  Cross  abide  to  seal  thee, 
Upon  thy  chaste  bed  falling. 

No  gloom  the  Cross  endureth, 
All  crime  the  Cross  repelleth. 

By  that  strong  sign  devoted 
The  soul  unwavering  dwelleth. 

Begone,  ye  wandering  portents. 
Ye  dreams  so  base  and  dreary  ; 

Begone,  unclean  Deceiver, 
Of  cheating  never  weary. 


Translations  of  A7icient  Church  Hymns.  137 

O  foul,  O  crooked  Serpent, 

A  thousand  mazes  trying, 
And  winding  frauds,  to  trouble 

The  hearts  on  Heaven  relying. 

Depart, — the  Christ  is  present ! 

The  Christ  is  present, — vanish  ! 
The  Sign  that  well  thou  knowest 

Thee  and  thy  crew  shall  banish. 

What  if  awhile  the  body 

Sink  wearily  reclining .? 
Faith  wakes,  in  very  slumber 

The  truth  of  Christ  divining. 

Praise  to  the  Eternal  Father, 

To  Christ,  true  King  of  Heaven, 
And  to  the  Blessed  Spirit 

Now,  and  for  aye  be  given  ! 


"OHOEUS  mYE  HIEEUSALEM''." 

The  choir  of  new  Jerusalem 
A  new  sweet  song  must  choose  and  frame, 
Her  Paschal  feast  (O  glad  emplo}^ !) 
So  honouring  with  all  sober  joy. 

See  Christ  the  unconquered  Lion  rise  ! 
The  Dragon  crush'd  beneath  Him  lies. 
His  living  voice  thrills  through  the  gloom, 
The  dead  awakening  from  the  tomb. 

Insatiate  Hell  to  light  once  more 
Hath  given  the  prey  devour'd  of  yore, 
And  captives  freed  in  due  array 
Are  following  Jesus  on  the  way. 

He  triumphs  now  in  glorious  light. 
By  His  great  power,  as  meet  and  right, 
The  Heavenly  and  the  earthly  kind, 
In  one  sole  City  He  doth  bind. 

d  Altered  from  the  "  Hymnal  Noted." 


Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns.        139 

He  is  our  King,  His  soldiers  we, 
Our  lowl}-  chanted  prayer  must  be 
That  He  ma}'  station  each  and  all 
In  His  own  glorious  palace-hall. 


Through  ages  tnat  no  limit  know 
Father  Supreme,  to  Thee  we  owe 
Glor}'  and  honour,  with  the  Son 
And  Holy  Spirit,  Three  in  One. 


"YEXILLAEEGIS." 

The  banners  of  the  King  appear, 
The  mysteiy  of  the  Cross  shines  clear, 
Whereby  upon  the  Tree  of  shame 
In  flesh  He  hangs  who  flesh  did  frame. 

With  palms  outstretch'd  our  Victim  view 
His  very  Heart  nail'd  through  and  through, 
Vouchsafing,  for  Redemption's  price. 
Here  to  be  slain  in  sacrifice. 

And  here  too,  wound  on  wound,  we  see 
By  dint  of  that  dire  lance,  how  He 
To  cleanse  us  caused  His  side  to  run 
With  Blood  and  Water  all  in  one. 

FulfiU'd  ^  is  now  what  David  sings, 

(True  verse  that  through  the  wide  world  rings,) 

"Among  the  nations  all,"  saith  he, 

"The  Lord  hath  reigned  from  the  Tree." 


p  Ps  xcvi.  10.     Tliere  was  an  ;incieiit,  but  r,(iiri]i)t  readins  of  this  verse, 
'Tell  it  out  among  the  heathen,  that  the  Lord  reijrneth  from  the  Tree." 


Translatio7is  of  Ancient  Church  Hyfnns.  141 

O  stately  Tree,  so  bright  and  fair, 
Who  dost  the  King's  own  purple  wear, 
Whose  stem  He  chose  and  fitly  framed 
That  holiest  Form  to  touch  unblamed  ! 

O  blessed,  on  whose  arms  sustained 
The  Ransom  hung  for  all  ordained  ! 
His  Body  there  in  balance  lay. 
And  spoil'd  Hell-powers  of  all  their  prey. 

Hail,  Altar  !  awful  Victim,  hail  ! 
Whose  glorious  pains  did  so  prevail ; 
Whose  Life  bore  Death,  and  did  restore 
By  dying,  Life  for  evermore. 

Thee,  Lord  most  highest.  Three  in  One 
With  praise  let  every  spirit  own. 
Whom  by  the  mystery  of  the  Tree 
Thou  sav'st,  their  Guide  Eternal  be  ! 


V 


"VEEBUM  SUPEENUM  PEODIE^S." 

Dread  Word,  who  from  the  Father  hast 
Thy  goings  forth  of  old,  now  born. 

When  waning  Time  is  well-nigh  past. 
Sole  succour  to  a  world  outworn. 

Enlighten  now  all  bosoms,  Lord, 

Consume  them  with  Thy  love,  we  pray. 

That  heard  at  last,  the  Royal  Word 
Earth's  dreamy  lights  may  chase  away. 

And  when  Thou  com'st  a  Judge,  one  day. 
The  heart's  dim  records  to  unrol. 

Dark  deeds  with  anguish  to  repay 
And  with  a  crown  the  righteous  soul, 

We  may  not,  for  our  several  sin, 
Each  in  his  chain  of  darkness  lie, 

But  with  the  blest  in  glory  win 
A  virgin  wTeath  eternally. 


"VOX  OLAEA  EGOE  PEESONAT." 

Give  ear, — the  Voice  rings  keen  and  true 
The  world's  dim  corners  through  and  through 
Ye  dreams  and  shadows,  speed  your  flight, 
Lo  !  Christ  from  heaven  is  darting  light !  . 

Now  let  each  slumbering  soul  arise 
That  yet  impure  and  wounded  lies  ; 
Now  a  new  Star  its  light  doth  give, 
And  where  it  beams  no  ill  may  live. 

The  Lamb  from  heaven  is  on  His  way, 
Our  debt  of  His  free  love  to  pay. 
O  may  we  all  with  tears  most  meet, 
And  loving  voice  that  mercy  greet ! 

So  when  anew  the  Light  doth  rise, 
A  horror  girding  earth  and  skies, 
Not  as  our  sin  Thy  scourge  may  pro\e. 
O  shield  us  with  Thy  pit}'ing  love  ! 


"PANGE  LINGUA,  GLOEIOSI  PEllLIUM 
OEETAMINIS  ." 

Sing,  my  tongue,  of  glorious  warfare, 
Sing  the  last,  the  dread  aftray  ! 

O'er  the  Cross,  high  Victory's  token, 
Sound  the  glad  triumphant  lay, 

How  the  Sacrifice  enduring 

Earth's  Redeemer  won  the  day. 

He  with  our  first  father  mourning 
For  his  crime  and  broken  faith. 

Who  of  that  ill  fruit  partaking 
In  a  moment  died  the  death, — 

Mark'd  e'en  then  a  Tree  to  ransom 
All  the  first  tree's  woe  and  scathe. 

Such  the  work  for  our  salvation 

In  its  order  fix'd  and  due  ; 
Art,  the  Traitor's  art  to  baffle 

And  his  wiles  of  changeful  hue ; 
Thence  to  draw  the  balm  and  healing 

Whence  the  foe  the  poison  drew. 

f  Altered  from  Dr.  Noale's  ve.sion. 


Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns.          145 

Wherefore  in  His  season's  fitness, 
When  the  sacred  years  were  spent, 

Came  the  Son,  the  world's  Creator, 
From  the  Father's  palace  sent, 

From  the  Virgin's  womb  proceeding, 
Flesh  most  pure  and  innocent. 

Hear  His  cries,  an  Infant  hidden 
W^here  the  narrow  manger  stands  ; 

See  the  Mother  Maid  His  members 
Wrapping  in  rude  lowly  bands  : 

See  the  cradle-garments  swathing 
God's  own  feeble  feet  and  hands  ! 

Now,  the  thirty  years  accomplish'd, 

(All  the  time  to  flesh  assign'd,) 
With  good  will,  for  therefore  came  He, 

To  His  Agony  resign'd. 
On  the  Cross  our  Lamb  is  lifted. 

There  the  Sacrifice  they  bind. 

Gall  and  vinegar,  and  spittle, 

Reed  and  nails  and  lance,  and  lo ! 

Now  the  tender  Form  is  piercbd. 
Now  the  Blood  and  Water  flow  ! 


146        Translations  of  Ancicjit  Church  Hymns. 

Earth  and  stars,  and  sky,  and  ocean 
Well  that  cleansing  river  know. 

Faithful  Cross  !  above  all  other, 
One  and  only  noble  Tree  ! 

None  in  foliage,  none  in  blossom. 
None  in  fruit  Thy  peer  may  be. 

Sweetest  wood,  and  sweetest  iron, 
Sweetest  weight  is  hung  on  Thee  ^  ! 

To  the  Trinity  be  glory 

Everlasting,  as  is  meet, 
Equal  to  the  Father,  equal 

To  the  Son  and  Paraclete ; 
Trinal  Unity,  whose  praises 

All  created  things  repeat. 

g  This  stanza  is  taken  altogether  from  Dr.  Neale's  version. 


"  0,  DEUS,  EGO  AMO  TE." 

Fain  would  we  love  Thee,  Lord  ;  for  Thou 

Didst  love  us  first,  and  lo ! 
In  willing  chains  to  follow  Thee 

Our  freedom  we  forego. 

Let  memor}^  nought  to  us  recall. 

But  of  Thy  love  and  praise  ; 
Nor  understanding  brood  on  aught 

But  Thee,  and  Thy  dread  ways. 

No  will  but  what  we  learn'd  as  Thine, 
(Thou  knowest.  Lord  !)  have  we  : 

WTiatever  by  Thy  gift  is  ours, 
By  our  gift  Thine  shall  be. 

All  was  of  Thee  :  receive  Thou  all. 

Teach  what  with  all  to  do  : 
Rule,  as  Thou  know'st  and  will'st :  we  know 

Thou  art  a  Lover  true. 


148         Translations  of  A?ide?it  C/mrch  Hyfnns. 

With  love  alone  endow  us  ;  so 
Shall  we  in  turn  love  Thee. 

Give  this,  and  Thou  giv'st  all :  for  why  ? 
The  rest  is  vanity. 


"ALLELUIA,  DULOE  OAEMEN." 

Alleluia,  sweetest  Anthem, 
Voice  of  jo}^  that  may  not  die  ; 

Alleluia,  voice  delightsome 

E'en  to  blessed  choirs  on  high  j 

Sung  by  holy  ones  abiding 
In  God's  home  eternally. 

Alleluia, — O,  blest  mother, 

Salem,  crown'd  above  and  free, — 
Alleluia  is  thy  watchword, 

So  thine  own  shall  joy  with  thee : 
But  as  yet  by  Babel's  waters. 

Mourning  exiles  still  are  we. 

Alleluia  we  deserve  not 

Plere  to  chant  for  evermore  ; 

Alleluia  for  our  trespass 

We  must  for  a  while  give  o'er ; 

For  a  Lenten  time  approaches 
Bidding  us  our  sins  deplore. 


150        Trans latiojis  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns. 

Wherefore  in  our  hymns  we  pray  Thee, 

Blessed,  Holy  Trinity  ! 
Grant  us  all  to  keep  Thine  Easter 

In  our  home  beyond  the  sky ; 
There  to  Thee  our  Alleluia 

Singing  everlastingly.     Amen. 


"OOEDE  NATUS  EX  PAEI;NTIS\" 
(For  Christmas.) 

Born  of  God  the  Father's  bosom, 
Ere  the  worlds  to  hght  had  come, 

Alpha  surnamed  and  Omega, 
He  alone  the  source  and  sum 

Of  all  things  that  are  or  have  been, 
Or  hereafter  shall  find  room, 
Ever,  and  for  evermore. 

This  is  He  whom  Heaven-taught  minstrels 
Hymned  of  yore  with  one  accord  ; 

Pledged  to  man  in  faithful  pages 
Of  the  Prophets'  sure  strong  word. 

As  foreshewn.  His  Star  is  gleaming  ; — 
Now  let  all  things  praise  the  Lord 
Ever,  and  for  evermore. 

•»  Altered  from  the  "  Hymnal  Noted.'' 


152  Translations  of  A?icieiit  Church  Hymns, 

O  that  pure  and  blessed  dawning, 
When  the  unspotted  Mother  bright 

By  the  Holy  Ghost  made  fruitful, 
Our  salvation  brought  to  light, 

And  the  Babe,  the  world's  Redeemer, 
Shew'd  His  sacred  face  in  sight 
Ever,  and  for  evermore. 


Let  Heaven's  height  sing  Psalms  adoring, 
Psalms  let  all  the  angels  sing. 

Powers  and  Virtues  wheresoever 

Praise  with  Psalms  our  God  and  King ; 

None  of  all  the  tongues  be  silent. 
Mightily  all  voices  sing, 
Ever,  and  for  evermore. 

Thee  let  aged  men  and  youthful. 

Boys  in  choral  brotherhood, 
Mothers,  virgins,  simple  maidens. 

One  adoring  multitude, 
Hymn  aloud  in  tones  harmonious, 

Of  devoutest,  purest  mood, 
Ever,  and  for  evermore. 


Translations  of  Ancient  Church  Hymns.        153 

Christ,  to  Thee  with  God  the  Father, 

And  the  Holy  Spirit,  be 
Praise  unweared,  high  thanksgiving, 

Song,  and  perfect  melody. 
Honour,  virtue,  might  victorious, 

And  to  reign  eternally 
Ever,  and  for  evermore. 


"LIBEETAS,  QUJE  SEEA  TAMEN  RESPEXIT 
DTERTEM,"  1808. 


O  Sun  of  Lusitane,  are  those  thy  rays 
Of  glory  set  for  evermore,  that  erst 
On  rising  Lisboa  pour'd  so  bright  a  blaze, 
And  gilded  Tajo's  stream,  and  proudly  burst 
From  foul  eclipse,  what  time  Braganza  first 
Uprais'd  the  banner  of  her  prostrate  reign. 
And  cried,  "  To  arms,  thou  race  in  freedom  nurst, 
Arouse  thee  as  of  yore  !  be  free  again ! 
Art  thou  for  ever  set,  O  Sun  of  Lusitane  ? " 


Heaven  wills  not  so  :   lo  !  from  long  death-like  sleep 
Waked  by  the  storm  of  war,  by  murder's  yell, 
Upstarts  the  Angel  of  the  Western  steep. 
And  shaking  off  the  loathsome  dews  that  fell 


Liber t as ^  qucB  sera  tameii^  6^^.  155 

From  Slavery's  poison-tree,  whose  blighting  spell 
Hath  numb'd  so  long  his  darken'd  sense, — behold  ! 
He  dimbs  once  more  his  mountain  citadel. 
Where  hovering  amid  hero-saints  of  old, 
He  sounds  the  trump  that  bursts  the  slumbers  of  the 
bold. 


And  at  the  fury  of  that  blast  I  mark 

Ten  thousand  swords  flash  upward  to  the  sky  : 

Swords,  that  inglorious  rust  no  more  shall  cark. 

Quick  glancing  in  the  light  of  Liberty. 

And  infants  lisp  their  fathers'  battle-cry, 

And  mothers  quit  the  cradle-side  to  hear, 

And  from  the  cell  of  spotless  Piety 

The    spouse  of  Heaven,  that  shrank  if  man  came 

near. 
Moves  forth  with  downcast  look,  but  not  in  maiden 

fear. 


'Tis  not  the  blush  of  maiden  shame  that  dyes, 
Nor  fear  that  blanches  her  unveiled  cheek  ; 
But  she  hath  heard  her  weeping  country's  cries. 
Heard  how  the  spoiler  made  Heaven's  altars  reek 


156  Libertas,  qiicB  sera  ta7}ien^  &^c. 

With  innocent  blood,  and  drown'd  the  infant's 

shriek 
In  fiendish  laughter.     She  hath  heard  the  tale, 
And  her  sick  heart  hath  sunk  as  it  would  break 
For  human  kind :  so  shrinks  she,  sad  and  pale, 
Till  fouler  wrongs  are  told,  and  sterner  longings  swell. 


Longings  of  sacred  vengeance, — for  the  fair, 
The  chaste,  the  pious,  dragged  to  insult  dire, 
Dragged  by  the  uplifted  arm,  or  streaming  hair, 
Then  left  in  shame  and  horror  to  expire. 
The  altars  saw,  and  shudder'd  ;  and  the  fire 
Of  holy  lamps,  that  lighted  saints  to  prayer. 
And  witnessed  throbs  erewhile  of  pure  desire, 
Trembling  sank  down,  and  cast  a  pale  cold  glare, 
Like  miner's  torch  half-quench 'd  in  some  sepulchral 
air. 


For  glory  couldst  thou  dare  the  monstrous  deep  ? 
For  empire  couldst  thou  stretch  thy  eagle  wings. 
Where  ocean's  echoes  lay  in  lifeless  sleep, 
Save  when  they  caught  the  storm's  wild  miurmurings? 


Libertas,  qicce  sera  tamen,  &>€.  157 

Couldst  thou  be  brave  for  gold  ?   and  shall  no  stings 
Of  holy  vengeance  thrill  thee  ?   shall  no  arm 
Be  bared  for  blood,  now  while  each  valley  rings 
With  thy  oppressors'  shout  ?  shall  baneful  charm 
Unnerve  thee,  Lusitane  ?  shall  shape  of  toil  or  harm  ? 


Far  mightier  spells  the  priests  of  Freedom  try, 
Of  power  to  rouse  from  their  entombbd  rest 
The  mailed  forms  of  chiefs,  whom  Victory 
Hath  lull'd  to  sleep  upon  their  country's  breast. 
Now  starting  at  her  well-remember'd  'best, 
Within  yon  circle,  lo  !  they  take  their  stand. 
Of  heroes  girt  for  war,  holy  and  blest, 
Thence    towards   the  West   and   North   they   wave 
their  brand, 
And  to  their  banner  call  the  free  of  heart  and  hand. 


'Tis  done  :  for  not  unmark'd  by  Albion  pass'd 
That  voice,  that  gleam :  her  giant  arm  is  rais'd, 
Her  sail  is  spread.     And  hark  !  Castile  as  fast 
Echoes  the  shout,  and  lifts  her  shield  emblazed 


158  Libert  as,  quce  sera  tame?i,  6^<:. 

With  deeds  of  high  emprize.     O  ever  praised, 
Yet  ever  wept !  Thy  banner  is  unfurl'd 
Thy  waken'd  Eagle  on  the  sun  hath  gazed. 
So  on  they  fare  in  faith,  till  they  have  hurl'd 
Their  triple  bolt  on  guilt,  defenders  of  a  world. 


TO ,  ON  HEE  SISTEE'S  DEATH. 

O  THOU,  whose  dim  and  tearful  gaze 
Dwells  on  the  shade  of  blessings  gone  ! 

^Vhose  fancy  some  lost  form  surv^eys, 
Half-deeming  it  once  more  thine  own  ; 

O  check  that  shuddering  sob,  control 
That  lip  all  quivering  with  despair ; 

The  thrillings  of  the  startled  soul 

That  wakes  and  finds  no  lov'd  one  there. 

'Tis  hard,  in  life's  first  wearying  stage, 
From  guiding,  soothing  souls  to  part  j 

To  part,  unchill'd  by  grief  or  age. 
Sister  from  sister,  heart  from  heart ! 

Yet  though  no  more  she  share,  her  love 

Thy  way  of  woe  still  guides  and  cheers  j 
And  from  her  cup  of  bliss  above 

One  drop  she  mingles  with  thy  tears. 
1810. 


TO  A  GIEL,  WHO  WAS  COMPLAINING  THAT  SHE  HAD 
FOEGOTTEN  HER  SISTEE'S  BIETHDAY. 

Grieve  not  though  Mary's  birthday  pass'd 

Without  one  joyous  rhyme  ; 
When  days  are  bright,  and  hours  fly  fast, 

Who  measures  bhss  by  time  ? 

When  grief  has  dimmed  our  darkUng  way, 

Such  lonely  gleams  are  dear : 
But  who  can  mark  one  happy  day, 

If  happy  through  the  year  ? 

Such  sweet  forgetfulness  be  thine  ! 

So  ever  live  and  love ! 
No  need  of  gift,  or  votive  line. 

The  fond,  glad  heart  to  prove. 

Nov.  1810. 


LDTES  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  EEMEMBRANCE  OP  AN 
EAELY  BUT  LONG-LOST  EEIEND, 


O  BLESSED  gem,  of  saintly,  spotless  kind, 
Too  pure  for  earthly  casket  long  to  hide  ! 
Thou  sparkiest  now  with  the  true  light,  supplied 
From  heaven's  eternal  fountain,  where  enshrined 
God  hides  Himself  in  brightness.     Too  refined 
For  mortal  gaze,  thou  shin'st  without  a  stain. 
Yet  mayst  thou,  when  my  spirit  springs  amain 
Toward  heaven,  though  faintly,  strike   the   eye   of 

mind 
And  draw  thought  upward,  as  with  polar  gleam, 
And   shed   a   holy   glow  o'er  prayer,  and  hope,  and 
dream ! 

Aug.  1810. 


ON  YISITmG  THE  EUINS  OF  PAELEIGH  OASTLE, 
SOMERSETSHIEE. 


Thou,  who  in  Farleigh's  ivied  bower, 
Sit'st  musing  on  remember'd  power. 
To  whom  reflection's  eye  recalls 
The  glories  of  her  roofless  halls ; 
Reminded  by  the  fitful  breeze 
Of  long-forgotten  minstrelsies ; 
By  shrubs  that  crown  the  turret's  height. 
Of  the  red  flag  that  stream'd  so  bright 
When  warriors  laid  them  here  to  rest. 
And  bowed  to  dames  the  blood-dyed  crest. 
And  Cromwell  sheath'd  his  untired  sword 
To  share  the  feast  with  Hungerford  : — 
Though  mournful,  o'er  thy  musing  heart 
The  gleam  of  faded  glories  dart. 
Give  not  that  rising  sigh  its  way. 
Nor  grieve  that  pride  should  so  decay. 


On  visiting  Farleigh  Castle^  So?nersets/iire.       163 

High  blazed  the  hall  in  regal  state, 
But  want  hung  shivering  on  the  gate. 
Unclad,  untill'd  the  desert  scene, 
Nor  glowed  in  gold,  nor  smiled  with  green. 
Who  battles  shared  might  feasts  attend ; 
The  spoiler  was  his  chieftain's  friend ; 
While  pined,  unwelcome  and  forgot, 
The  tenant  of  the  peaceful  cot. 
For  him  nor  jasmine  bloom'd  beneath. 
Nor  woodbine  clomb  with  upward  wreath, 
To  meet  the  slanting  thatch,  where  played 
From  darksome  elms  the  waving  shade. 
Nor  portal  brown,  nor  rustic  seat 
Gave  air  and  shade  for  noon's  retreat : 
Nor  flower-entangled  casement  peep'd 
Through  bowers  in  tears  of  morning  steep'd ; 
No  comfort  smooth'd  his  lowly  bed, 
No  Houlton  liv'd  to  bless  his  shed. 

Aug.  24,  1810. 


ON  LEAvnra  ooepus  oheisti  college,  on  his 

ELECTION  TO  A  PELLOWSHIP  OE  OEIEL. 

How  soft,  how  silent  has  the  stream  of  time 
Borne  me  unheeding  on,  since  first  I  dream'd 
Of  poetry  and  glory  in  thy  shade. 
Scene  of  my  earliest  harpings  ?     There,  if  oft, 
(As  through  thy  courts  I  took  my  nightly  round, 
Where  thy  embattled  line  of  shadow  hid 
The  moon's  white  glimmerings)  on  my  charm'd  ear 
Have  swell'd  of  thy  triumphant  minstrelsy ' 
Some  few  faint  notes  ;  if  one  exulting  chord 
Of  my  touched  heart  has  thrill'd  in  unison, 
Shall  I  not  cling  unto  thee  ?  shall  I  cast 
No  strained  glance  on  my  adopted  home. 
Departing  ?     Seat  of  calm  delight,  farewell ! 
Home  of  my  muse,  and  of  my  friends !  I  ne'er 


'.  Sir  John  T.  Colerirlge,  at  that  time  a  Scholar  of  C.C.C.,  had  won   tht 
Prize  for  Latin  Verses,  on  "  Pyramides  iEgyptiacae,"  in  tlie  year  1810. 


On  leavifig  Corpus  Christi  College,  165 

Shall  see  thee  but  with  such  a  gush  of  soul 
As  flows  from  him  who  welcomes  some  dear  face 
Lost  in  his  childhood.     Yet  not  lost  to  me 
Art  thou  :  for  still  my  heart  exults  to  own  thee, 
And  memory  still,  and  friendship  make  thee  mine. 

June  28,  1811. 


SONG. 

They  say  I  am  no  faithful  swain, 

Because  I  do  not  fold  my  arms, 
And  gaze  and  sigh,  and  gaze  again, 

And  curse  my  fair  one's  fatal  charms. 
I  cannot  weep,  I  cannot  sigh. 
My  fair  one's  heart  laughs  in  her  eye. 
I  cannot  creep  like  weary  wight, 
My  fair  one's  step  is  free  and  light. 

When  fix'd  in  memory's  mirror  dwells 
Some  dear-lov'd  form  to  fleet  no  more, 

Transform'd  as  by  Arabian  spells. 
We  catch  the  likeness  we  adore. 

Then  ah !  who  would  not  love  most  true  ? 

Who  would  not  be  in  love  with  you  ? 

So  might  he  learn  the  bliss  of  heart 

Which  waits  on  those  who  bliss  impart. 

Might  learn  through  smiles  and  tears  to  shine. 

Like  Angels,  and  like  Caroline. 

1811. 


A  THOUaST  ON  A  TINE  MOENING. 

God's  mercy  is  in  the  pure  beam  of  Spring : 

The  gale  of  morning  is  His  blessed  breath, 

Cheering  created  things,  that  as  they  drink 

At  these  low  founts  of  intermitting  joy 

Their  souls  may  bless  Him,  and  with  quicken'd  thirst 

Pant  for  the  river  of  life,  and  light  of  heaven. 

O,  sun-bright  gleams,  and  ye  unfolding  depths 

Of  azure  space,  what  are  ye  but  a  pledge 

And  precious  foretaste  of  that  cloudless  day. 

Gladdening  at  intervals  the  good  man's  heart 

With  earnest  of  infinitude  ?     The  while 

He  on  his  rugged  path  moves  cheerily. 

Toward  joys  that  mock  the  measuring  eye  of  hope, 

As  yon  abyss  ethereal  mocks  our  gaze. 

March  8,  1S12. 


TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

All  hail,  thou  messenger  of  spring  and  love, 
Instinct  with  music,  and  with  blissful  thought ! 

\Vhat  spell  unknown  from  genial  southern  grove, 
From  purer  gales,  and  skies  without  a  blot. 

Does  round  thy  charmed  beak  and  pinions  move, 
Mellowing  our  rude  air  to  receive  thy  note  ? 

Art  thou  indeed  a  thing  of  soulless  frame  ? 

And  heaves  that  bosom  with  no  minstrel  flame  ? 

O,  no !  for  sure  those  thrilling  tones  had  mind, 
That  trembled  from  beneath  the  evening  star, 

In  whose  dear  light  thou  sittest  as  enshrined 
While  woods  and  waves  do  rustle  from  afar, 

And  to  thy  varied  descant  the  low  wind 

Makes  fitful  answer,  which  no  sound  may  mar 

Of  beast  or  meaner  bird  :  they  silent  all 

Are  held  by  that  sweet  chain  in  willing  thrall. 


To  the  Nightingale.  169 

Thy  song  has  language  :  to  each  heart  of  man 
It  sounds  in  unison  :  but  who  are  they 

Who  best  thy  mystic  melodies  may  scan  ? 
The  Poet  musing  at  the  close  of  day. 

He  who  with  heavy  heart  and  visage  wan 

In  thought  of  vanish'd  bliss  does  sadly  stray  : 

The  lover  when  his  true  love  is  not  by, 

And  the  rapt  ear  of  Heaven-taught  infancy. 


Full  greedily  the  joyous  infant  drinks 

Those  wildly  quivering  notes  thou  fling'st  on  high  ; 
Shuddering  in  griei's  dear  joy,  the  mourner  shrinks 

From  what  he  loves,  thy  sadder  melody ; 
And  in  thy  long  low  strain  the  lover  thinks 

He  hears  the  echo  of  his  lonely  sigh  : 
And  be  thy  song  of  joyaunce  or  of  woe, 
Still  o'er  his  inmost  heart  the  Poet  feels  it  flow. 

May  II,  1812. 


SONNET. 

Yes,  I  will  stamp  her  image  on  my  soul, 
Though  all  unworthy  such  high  portraiture 
Tablet  so  vile, — for  ever  to  endure. 
Nor,  though  by  fits  across  my  spirit  roll 
Dim  clouds  of  anguish,  shall  my  heart  give  way. 
For  not  in  weak  and  infant- hke  distress 
Behoves  it  the  fair  moonlight  to  survey 
Because  we  cannot  grasp  it :  rather  bless 
The  dear  mild  ray  that  on  the  throbbing  heart 
Falls  soft  as  seraph's  glance  of  kindliest  power, 
And  doth  its  melting  loveliness  impart 
To  all  it  looks  upon.     In  happy  hour 
So  may  I  frame  my  soul  to  think  on  thee. 
Whom  never  but  from  far  these  worthless  eyes 
may  see. 

June,  i8i2. 


STANZAS  ADDEESSED  TO  A  "GLOOMY  THINKEE^ 


Ah  !  cease  my  friend,  that  mournful  lay  ! 

Arouse  thee  from  thy  gloomy  dream  ! 
The  clouds  that  dimmed  thy  morning's  ray 

Shew  but  more  bright  thy  noon-day  gleam. 


Foremost  in  glory's  sun-bright  steep, 
Foremost  in  duty's  mild  career, 

No  drop  for  thee  thy  friends  shall  weep, 
But  proud  affection's  burning  tear. 


And  when,  thy  giant  course  gone  by, 
On  clouds  of  bliss  thy  sun  shall  fall, 

How  joyous  then  shall  Memor)''s  eye 
View  sorrows  borne  at  Virtue's  call ! 


k  I  am  afraid  these  were  ■written  in  answer  to  some  stanzas  entitled 
•Gloomy  tboughts,"  by  me.     J.  T.  C. 


172       Stafizas  addressed  to  a  "  Gloomy  Thinker ^ 

Then  shalt  thou  know  the  bliss  of  blessing, 
Thou,  whom  no  selfish  joy  could  move  ; 

In  peace  thy  stedfast  soul  possessing, 

Rich  in  good  deeds,  and  good  men's  love. 

June^  1812. 


"NEC  ME  DISOEDEEE  PLEVIT." 

My  spirit  lingers  round  that  blessed  space, 

Which  prisons  her  fair  form.     Still  on  mine  ear 

Like  dying  notes  of  angels'  minstrelsy 

Her  lips'  last  music  dwells.     Yet  not  to  me 

O,  not  to  me  was  pour'd  the  parting  glance, 

Enrapturing  anguish  :  not  to  me  the  hand 

Held  out  in  kindness,  whose  remember'd  touch 

Might  soothe  the  absent  heart.     And  it  is  well. 

Why  should  she  think  on  me  ?  she  holds  her  course 

A  happy  star  in  heaven,  by  gales  of  bliss 

LuU'd  to  repose  on  the  soft-bosom'd  clouds, 

Or  bathing  in  the  pure  blue  deep  of  light. 

In  grossness  I,  and  mists  of  earthly  sense, 

Creep  on  my  way  benighted  :  half  afraid 

To  lift  my  eye  to  brightness  :  or  perchance 

If  wayward  fate  so  wills,  a  moment  rais'd 

To  float  an  unsubstantial  meteor-light, 

Born  of  this  nether  air,  and  there  to  die. 

yune  15,  1812. 


A  WET  DAY  AT  MIDSUMMEE. 

How  mournfully  the  lingering  rain-drops  sound, 
As  one  by  one  they  rustle  on  the  leaves, 
To  him  who  inly  groans  in  sad  suspense 
AVatching  some  pale  lov'd  face  !     The  summer  eve 
Is  dimm'd  by  showers,  and  murky  hues  o'ercast 
The  comfortable  glow  that  wont  to  cheer 
This  musing  hour.     E'en  such  a  mist  has  hung 
O'er  thee,  my  sister,  w4ien-so  thou  hast  look'd 
From  thy  sad  couch  o'er  lawns  and  turfy  glades, 
Where  erst,  the  lightest  in  the  rural  throng. 
Blithesome  you  roved,  in  blessing  all  most  blest. 
And  as  e'en  now  beneath  yon  dusky  arch 
Bursts  unexpected  light,  so  Faith's  fond  eye 
Looks  on  to  days  of  health,  when  smilingly 
We  shall  recount  these  long  anxieties. 
And  bhss  be  dearer  for  remember'd  woe. 

June  23,  1812. 


THE  riEST  SIGHT  OP  THE  SEA^. 
(Probably  written  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.) 

'*  For  now  we  see  through  a  glass  darkly,  but  then  face  to  face: 
now  I  know  in  part,  but  then  shall  I  know  even  as  also  I  am 
known." — I  Cor.  xiii.  12. 

Visions  of  vastness  and  of  beauty  !   long 

Too  long  have  I  neglected  ye  :  content 

Nor  to  have  sooth'd  my  soul  to  rest  among 

Your  evening  lullaby  of  breeze  and  wave, 

While  the  low  sun  retiring  glow'd  from  far 

Like  pillar'd  gold  upon  a  marble  plain; 

Nor  yet  wild  waked  from  that  deceitful  sleep, 

When  the  storm  waved  his  giant  scourge,  and  rode 

Upon  the  rising  billow,  have  I  sate 

Listening  with  fearful  joy,  and  pulse  that  throbbed 

In  unison  with  every  bursting  wave. 

Yet  the  strong  passion  slept  within  my  soul 

Like  an  unwaken'd  sense  :  e'en  as  the  blind 

1  This  poem  was  first  printed  in  "  Days  and  Seasons." 


176  The  First  Sight  of  the  Sea. 

Mingles  in  one  dear  dream  all  softest  sounds, 
All  smoothest  surfaces,  and  calls  it  Light. 

Such  lovely,  formless  visions  late  were  mine, 
Dear  to  remembrance  yet :  but  far  more  dear 
The  present  glories  of  this  world  of  waves. 
So  through  a  glass  seen  darkly,  mortals  deem 
Of  things  eternal :  but  even  now  is  the  hour 
When  gales  from  heaven  shall  blow,  and  the  true 

Sun, 
Rising  in  glory  o'er  the  unknown  expanse. 
Shall  pour  at  once  upon  the  unbodied  soul 
Floods  of  such  blessedness,  as  mortal  sense 
Might  not  endure,  nor  spirit  pent  in  flesh 
Imagine  dimly.     Be  my  race  so  run, 
In  holy  faith,  and  righteous  diligence, 
That  purged  from  earthly  film  and  fear  my  soul 
May  catch  her  first  glimpse  of  Eternity, 
Mists  gradual  roll  away,  and  the  calm  waves 
Still  smile  and  brighten  as  I  draw  more  near. 


'&' 


Attg.  5,  1812. 


WKITTEN  AT  SIDMOUTH. 

Why  art  thou  sad,  my  soul,  when  all  around 
Such  loveliness  salutes  thee  ?  fragrant  airs, 
Bowers  of  unfading  green,  soft  murmuring  brooks, 
Gay  sunny  slopes  that  wear  their  vernal  hues. 
Mocking  the  breath  of  winter ;  gorgeous  cliffs, 
And  Ocean's  awful  pageantry ; — and  more 
And  dearer  far,  soft  smiles,  and  radiant  eyes. 
Thou  wert  not  wont  vvith  dim  and  tearful  gaze 
To  look  on  these  ; — then  wherefore  art  thou  sad  ? 

Thou  art  not  here :  far  distant  many  a  mile 
Thou  lingerest,  nor  beneath  a  genial  sky  : 
Hovering  unseen  around  th'  untimely  couch 
Of  her,  thy  best  beloved  :  and  thou  dost  grieve 
Because  thou  art  not  of  that  happy  choir 
That  holds  sweet  evening  converse  at  her  side  ; 
Because  thou  sharest  not  that  pledge  of  peace 


M 


178  Wriiteji  at  Sidmouth. 

A  father's  nightly  orison  ;  because 
Hearts  knit  to  thine  as  its  own  vital  flakes 
Partake  not  of  thy  wonderings,  and  thy  joys. 
I  stifle  not  thy  sighs.     'Tis  meet  that  thou  should'st 
mourn. 

Jan  I,  1813. 


TO  A  OAYE  OTDEE  HIGH  PEAK,  SIDMOUTH. 

I  LOVE  thee  well,  thou  solitary  Cave, 

Though  thee  no  legend,  or  of  war  or  love, 

Or  mermaid  issuing  from  her  coral  grove 

Ennoble  :  nought  beside  the  fretful  wave 

That  round  thy  portal  arch  doth  idly  rave. 

Has  waked  thine  echoes  ;  nor  in  lonely  age 

Has  seaman  sought  thee  for  his  hermitage, 

That  ocean's  voice  might  lull  him  to  his  grave. 

I  love  thee  for  his  sake  who  brought  me  here. 

Companion  of  my  wildered  walk,  and  bore 

A  part  in  all  those  visions  dim  and  dear 

In  which  my  tranced  spirit  loves  to  soar. 

When  gales  sigh  soft,  and  rills  are  murmuring  near, 

And  evenly  the  distant  billows  roar. 

Feb.  21, 1813. 


TO  THE  MEMOEY  OP  JOHN  LEYDEN'",  M.D. 

O,  MOURNFUL  on  our  ears  the  wild  harp  died 
When  the  bard  sang  farewell  to  Teviotside ; 
And  gentle  hearts,  while  thou  wert  far  away, 
Own'd  sad  misgivings  for  thy  plaintive  lay. 
Ah,  too  prophetic  !  in  the  flush  of  years 
Sweet  minstrel,  far  from  thine  Aurelia's  tears, 
Thy  glorious  task  hath  bowed  thee  to  the  tomb. 
Most  mournful,  yet  most  blessed  was  thy  doom  ! 

Most  blessed  was  thy  doom,  the  rural  Muse 
Dropp'd  on  thy  cradled  head  her  blandest  dews, 
And  melting  hues  of  moonlight  loveliness, 
And  fairy  forms  thy  childish  eyne  would  bless. 
Thou,  too,  hadst  learn'd  to  love  ;  and  not  in  vain, 
If  right  I  guess,  was  pour'd  thy  soothing  strain. 


m  Dr.  John  Leyden,  who  assisted  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  procuring  materials 
and  ill  istrations  for  the  *■  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  died  as  Pro- 
fessor of  the  Native  Dialects  in  the  Bengal  College,  Calcutta,  in  the  year 
1811.  He  was  engaged  in  translating  the  Uoly  Scriptures  at  the  time  of 
his  death  into  ^even  languages  into  which  they  had  not  then  been  translated 
A  small  volume  of  his  poems  was  published  in  i8ai,  which  contained  some 
very  beautiful  pieces,  now,  it  is  to  be  feared,  entirely  forgotten  ;  one  es- 
pecially, an  Address  to  an  Indian  Gold  Coin. 


To  the  Memory  of  John  Leyde^t,  M.D.         i8i 

To  each  fond  note  that  down  the  valley  sigh'd 
Some  chord  within  thy  fair  one's  heart  replied ; 
Breathless  she  listen'd  for  the  song  of  love, 
Nor  miss'd  the  nightingale  from  Teviot's  grove. 
Most  blessed  was  thy  doom  :  to  thy  bold  glance 
Flew  wide  the  gorgeous  portals  of  Roma  ace  ; 
From  living  gems  that  deck  her  mystic  cell 
Thine  eye  caught  lustre,  and  the  sacred  spell 
Of  high  chivalric  song  upon  thy  spirit  fell. 
O,  sweeter  than  the  music  of  the  grove, 
The  border  clarion,  or  the  lute  of  love, 
Those  angel-notes  that  on  thy  dying  ear 
Fell  soft,  recalling  all  thy  soul  held  dear, 
All  bright  remembrances  of  deeds  well  done. 
Of  Mercy's  work  for  half  mankind  begun, 
All  the  calm  joys  of  hearts  in  virtue  sure. 
All  holy  longings,  all  affections  pure. 
With  thy  free  soul  in  bliss  for  ever  to  endure. 
Feb.  5,  1813. 


ON   BEING  EEQUESTED  TO  WEITE   SOME   YEESES 
m  A  PKIEND'S  OOMMON-PLAOE  BOOK". 

IN" AY,  ask  not  for  a  lay  of  mine, 

Too  fitful  is  my  spirit's  gleam  ; 
With  wavering  and  unsteady  shine 

It  mocks  me  like  a  lover's  dream. 

And  O,  my  heart  is  all  too  weak, 
And  all  too  faltering  is  my  tongue  ; 

I  cannot  gain,  I  dare  not  seek 

The  ennobling  meed  of  sacred  song. 

For  lofty  look,  and  open  brow. 
Heart  fearless  in  its  glorious  aim, 

That  shrinks  not  from  the  slanderer's  blow 
Shrinks  not  from  aught  save  wise  men's 
blame  ; 

n  Written  by  himself  in  my  Look.    J.  T.  C. 


Na}\  ask  not  for  a  lay  of  mine.  183 

These,  and  the  self-possessing  mind 

That  views  unmoved,  though  not  in  scorn, 

All  earth-born  aims  of  lowlier  kind, 
With  the  true  bard  should  all  be  born. 


But  I, — if  e'er  from  dewy  eye 

Or  summer  sun  my  soul  catch  fire, — 

Too  soon  the  lights  of  minstrelsy 

Quench'd  in  some  gale  of  care  expire. 

Nor  upward  to  its  native  heaven 
Ascends  the  altar-flame;  but  wild 

By  some  capricious  passion  driven 

Leaves  all  forlorn  Hope's  dreaming  child. 

March  15,  1813. 


EOBIN  LEE. 

A  Ballad  founded  on  a  tradition  still  preserved  at 
Salcombe  Eegis,  Devon. 

"  O,  HEARD  ye  not  the  night-wind's  roar 
How  in  his  rage  he  swept  the  cove  ? 

O,  father,  hie  thee  to  the  shore, 

My  heart  is  shuddering  for  my  love.'' 

"  Cease,  daughter,  cease  thine  idle  fears, 

Far  off  in  port  he  safely  sleeps  • 
And  now,  behold,  thy  sighs  and  tears 

Have  rous'd  thy  child ; — poor  babe,  he  weeps. 

"  Sing,  daughter,  sing  thy  lullaby. 
But  when  the  babe  is  soothed  to  rest 

Lend  thy  light  step  and  eagle  eye 
To  aid  me  in  my  fearful  quest. 


Robin  Lee.  185 

"  For  I  will  hie  me  to  the  coast, 

Haply  some  founder'd  bark  lies  there, 

Or  some  poor  seaman,  tempest  tost, 
For  my  son's  sake  demands  my  care  !" 

She  listen'd  as  his  footsteps  part, 

She  listen'd  with  a  stifled  sigh ; 
Then  to  her  child  with  heavy  heart 

She  turn'd  and  sang  her  lullaby. 

"  O,  hush  thee,  poor  baby,  I  like  not  thy  moan, 
Thou  need'st  not  weep,  though  thy  father  be  gone  ; 
The  wild  winds  have  borne  thy  father  afar, 
To  ride  o'er  the  waves,  and  to  join  the  war. 

"  O,  it  dwells    on  my  heart   how  he  smiled    and 

sighed, 
When  he  tore  him  away  from  his  love-lorn  bride  ; 
Bitter  the  smile,  and  boding  the  sigh, 
And  the  parting  kiss  was  agony. 

"  He  said,  '  ;My  love,  O  think  on  me 
When  thou  singest  thy  darling's  lullaby ;' 
And  all  too  well  have  I  kept  his  'hest, 
For  my  sighs  oft  waken  thee  on  my  breast. 


1 86  Robin  Lee. 

"  But  see,  how  my  lovely  one  smiles  in  sleep ! 
O,  mayst  thou  never  wake  to  weep  ! 
O,  when  will  such  joy  as  now  thou'rt  dreaming, 
Upon  this  darken'd  heart  be  gleaming  ? " 

Soft  was  the  mother's  parting  kiss. 

But  mingled  with  a  bitter  tear  ; 
So  softly  sweet  his  dream  of  bliss. 

So  bitter  sad  her  dream  of  fear. 

All  as  she  traced  old  Robin  Lee 
Along  that  wild  and  winding  dell. 

Responsive  to  the  fitful  sea, 

Her  bursting  bosom  rose  and  fell. 

But  when  she  reached  the  lonely  strand. 
For  aye  that  bosom  ceas'd  to  beat : 

Her  sire  all  speechless  wrung  her  hand. 
Her  husband's  corse  lay  at  her  feet! 

Soft  was  her  infant's  sleep  the  while. 
He  dream'd  his  wonted  dream  of  bliss. 

But  when  he  turn'd  with  waking  smile 
He  met  no  more  a  mother's  kiss. 


Robin  Lee.  187 

Seest  thou  yon  grey  and  woe-worn  form 
Slow  wandering  by  the  wintry  sea, 

Watching  with  haggard  smile  the  storm  ? 
That  aged  man  is  Robin  Lee. 

And  that  lorn  boy,  whose  eager  eye 
Wanders  so  wild  from  wave  to  wave, 

Sings  a  sad  soothing  lullaby 

Each  evening  o'er  his  parents'  grave. 

April  10,  1 813. 


STANZAS   ON  LEAVING  SIDMOUTH. 
(Fragment.) 

Ye  lingering  hours  speed  on  !  with  infant  haste 

My  heart  springs  homeward,   springs  to  meet   the 
bhss, 

Which  but  in  one  dear  spot  it  ne'er  can  taste, 
Joy's  surest  pledge,  the  dear  domestic  kiss. 

Yet  ere  I  leave  thee,  vale  of  many  flowers. 
My  lowly  harp  would  whisper  one  farewell ; 

Though  glad  to  go,  I  linger  in  thy  bowers, 

And  half  could  wish  thou  wert  my  native  dell. 

For  oft  from  rustling  copse,  or  fountain's  flow. 
Thine  echoes  soft  have  thrill'd  mine  heart  along. 

Lulling  each  wayward  care  and  dream  of  woe. 
And  the  wild  wave  made  solemn  undersong. 

Oft  as  the  conscious  freedom  swell'd  my  breast, 
As  on  thy  downs  I  drank  the  rushing  gale. 

Or  mark'd,  far  stretching  in  the  dark  blue  West, 
The  buoyant  glories  of  the  sun-bright  sail. 


Stanzas  on  leaving  Sidmoiith.  189 

And  but  my  spirit  sear'd  by  sorrow's  brand 
Can  taste  no  more  the  bitter  sweets  of  love, 

Some  fairy  queen  of  that  enchanted  land 
Had  heard  my  harpings  in  the  moonlight  grove. 

Forbidden  is  that  dearest  thrill  to  me, 
But  I  can  feel  and  bless  the  kindly  gale, 

That  in  thy  bowers  of  ease  and  rural  glee 

Cheers  the  forlorn,  and  bids  the  stranger  hail. 

April  17,  1813. 


"NTJNQUAM  AUDITUEll." 

How  can  I  leave  thee  all  unsung, 

While  my  heart  owns  thy  dear  control ; 
And  Heaven  and  Love  have  o'er  thee  flung 

The  softest  moonlight  of  the  soul  ? 
O,  I  have  long'd  for  thee  to  call 
Soft  echo  from  the  West  Wind's  hall, 

Some  notes  as  blithely  wild  to  seek, 
As  the  wild  music  of  thy  voice, 
As  the  wild  roses  that  rejoice 

In  thine  eyes'  sunshine  on  thy  glowing  cheek. 

For  not  the  breath  of  mortal  praise 

Thine  artless  beauty  dares  profane  ; 
For  thee  wild  Natiure  wakes  her  lays, 

And  thy  soul  feels  the  blessed  strain. 
The  song  that  breaks  the  grove's  repose, 
The  shower-drop  rustling  on  the  rose, 

The  brooklet's  morning  melody, — 
To  these  with  soft  and  solemn  tone 
Thy  spirit  stirs  in  unison, 

Owning  the  music  of  its  native  sky. 


"  Nunquam  A  uditurcey  191 

And  when  in  some  fair  golden  hour 
Thy  heart-strings  shall  give  back  the  sigh 

Of  Love's  wild  harp,  no  earthly  bower 
Shall  lend  such  hues  as  bloom  to  die  ; 

But  earnest  of  the  eternal  spring 

Their  amarant  wreaths  shall  angels  bring, 
And  preluding  the  choir  of  heaven 

Soft  Eden  gales  shall  sweep  the  lyre, 

And  star-like  points  of  guiltless  fire 
From  God's  own  altar-flame  to  gem  thy  brow  be  given. 

It  is  my  pride  that  I  can  deem 

Though  faintly,  of  that  being's  worth, 

Who  to  th'  All-gracious  Mind  shall  seem 
Meet  help  for  thee  in  heaven  and  earth. 

Long  as  before  life's  gale  I  drive 

Shall  holiest  hope  within  me  live, 
Thee  fair,  thee  blessed  while  I  view. 

And  when  the  port  of  endless  rest 

Receives  me,  may  my  soul  be  blest 
With  everlasting,  endless  gaze  on  you. 

April  13, 1813. 


SOraET<^  "OONCEKNING  THE  TEUE  POET." 

Whom  blesseth  most  the  gentle  dew  of  heaven  ? 

Whose  heart  is  sweetest  thrill'd  by  Nature's  song  ? 

Who  in  still  musings  moonlight  bowers  among 
Drinks  purest  light  from  the  soft  star  of  Even  ? 
Is  it  not  he  who  knows  whence  each  is  given  ? 

Who,  not  unweeting  of  that  Ocean  source 

Whence    springs    each   stream    of  glory,    where   in 
course 
This  lower  world  first  compass'd,  all  are  driven. 
Sees  upon  each  fair  thing  the  stamp  and  seal 
Of  Him  who  made  it ;  hears  and  owns  His  voice 
Linking  all  harmonies ;  but  most  his  heart 
The  impulse  of  its  master-key  doth  feel. 
And  in  the  consciousness  of  Heaven  rejoice, 
When  woman  duly  plays  her  angel-part  ? 

Au^.  8, 1813. 


o  Written  at  the  end  of  an  essay  on  the  Lake  Poets,  which  concluded  with 
mentioning  their  beautiful  exhibition  of  female  character. 


TO  J.  T.  0,  WITH  PETEAEOA.     , 

These  are  the  workings  of  a  spirit  pure, 
And  high  and  zealous  ;  one  of  those  elect 
Whom  the  All-wise  hath  beckon'd  from  the  crowd 
Of  meaner  souls,  to  set  their  thrones  on  high 
Among  the  sons  of  men.     Do  thou,  my  friend. 
My  Coleridge  !  spirit  zealous,  pure,  and  high  ! 
Accept  them,  not  misdeeming  of  their  worth, 
Because  the  worldly  and  the  sensual  slight 
Their  precious  fragrance,  all  too  fine  for  nerves 
Gross    and   unpurged  as  theirs.     But   thou   hast 

walk'd 
Among  the  gardens  of  true  Poesy, 
And  every  nectar-dew  that  drops  at  eve, 
And  every  balmy  steam  that  morn  exhales. 
Hath  steep'd  thy  soul  in  gladness.     Thou  wilt  love 
The  laurell'd  bard,  whether  his  burning  wire, 
Touch'd  by  the  sun-beam  of  reviving  Rome, 
Ring  out,  as  Memnon's  erst,  and  rouse  the  sons 
Of  his  own  Italy  to  arms  and  songs : 


194  To  y.  T.  C,  with  Pet r area. 

Or  chant  his  hermit  hymn  to  Heaven  and  Love, 
Soft,  yet  severe  :  for  Piety  had  framed 
The  melody,  and  every  wilder  chord 
Was  temper'd  to  her  solemn  undersong. 
So  Love  seem'd  what  he  is, — a  spirit  devout. 
Owning  God  most  in  His  most  beauteous  work. 
Such  shalt  thou  feel,  and  such  for  thee  be  felt, 
My  Coleridge !  at  the  appointed  hour,  if  Heaven 
Loathe  not  my  daily  suit ; — for  I  have  tried 
And  known  thee.     I  have  proved  thee  true  and  kind. 
Wise  for  the  simple,  for  the  wavering  firm ; 
And  much  it  grieves  me  that  in  Life's  dark  maze 
So  soon  our  paths  shall  sever. 

Fare  thee  well ! 
And  as  along  the  lowly  vale  I  wind, 
Scale  thou  untired,  yet  sometimes  making  sign 
That  thou  rememberest  me,  the  mountain's  height ; 
And  be  thy  glory  as  thy  virtue !  yet, 
Yet  once  again,  insatiable  of  good 
For  thee  and  thine,  my  tide  of  gratitude 
Must  flow  towards  Heaven,  for  I  am  nought  below. 
O,  Thou  All-merciful !  Be  these  my  friends 
Beneath  Thy  wing  for  ever  !  Visit  them 


To  y.  T.  C,  with  Petrarca.  195 

With  daily  blessings,  nightly  dreams  of  bliss  ! 
Be  Memory  still  their  comforter,  be  Hope 
Their  constant  guide  j  and  wise  and  good  men's 

love 
Their  stay  on  earth.     Be  Thou   their  rest  in 

heaven ! 

Sept.  14,  1813. 


SONG. 

Tell  me,  ye  maidens  fair  and  wise, 
Who  joy  in  Nature's  loveliness, 

What  forms,  what  hues  in  earth  or  skies 
Doth  Beauty  most  delight  to  bless  ? 

Comes  she  on  Autumn's  sounding  wing, 

Or  on  the  frolic  breath  of  Spring  ? 

Dwells  she  beneath  that  banner  bright 
That  o'er  the  car  of  Morning  streams. 

Or  trembling  in  the  wan  moonlight 

When  faint  the  rose  of  Evening  gleams  ? 

Kindles  her  eye  with  Hope's  full  blaze. 

Or  melts  in  Memory's  lingering  gaze  ? 

If  right  I  guess,  our  hearts  beguiling. 
By  turns  she  pours  her  fairy  glance, 

Now  in  Regret  all  sadly  smiling. 

Now  fix'd  in  Faith's  prophetic  trance : 

Still  luring  us  to  heaven,  our  home. 

By  bliss  gone  by,  or  bliss  to  come. 

Oct.  12,  1 813. 


ODE  ON  THE  YIOTORIES  IN  THE 
PYRENEES,  1813. 

What  mountain-echoes  roll 
Across  the  roughening  main  ? 
Is  it  the  torrent's  voice  that  shakes  my  soul  ? 
Is  it  the  wolf  wild  howling  o'er  the  slain  ? 
That  torrent  in  its  stormy  might 

Hath  swept  a  thousand  flags  away, 
That  blithely  danced  in  glory's  light 

Mocking  the  sun  of  yesterday. 
Long  o'er  Biscaya's  lonely  wold 

That  war-wolfs  howl,  at  midnight  hour 
Hath  scared  the  watchers  of  the  fold ; 
Now  walks  he  forth  at  noon  in  vengeance  to  devour. 


198       Ode  on  the  Victories  in  the  Pyrenees^  18 13. 

In  justice  walks  he  forth  : 
Before  his  red  eye's  glare 
They  shrink,  the  wasters  of  the  smiling  earth, 
They  bow  themselves,  they  sicken  with  despair. 
Dash'd  from  their  foul  unholy  grasp 

The  silver-winged  Eagle  lies, 
Each  tyrant  draws  one  wildering  gasp, 

Curses  his  anguish  once,  and  dies. 
Then  from  Cantabria's  cloudy  height 

Freedom  in  thunder  spake  to  Spain, 
Her  pealing  voice  dispers'd  the  night 
Of  mist  that  long  had  hover'd  o'er  her  mountain 
reign. 


Doth  yet  one  lingering  war-note  dwell 
In  arched  grot  or  bowery  dell. 
Of  that  triumphant  clarion  blast 
O'er  rock,  and  copse,  and  torrent  cast 
From  Ronceval's  immortal  fight ; 
That  told  how  many  a  prowest  knight, 
Hurl'd  headlong  from  his  seat  of  pride. 
Beneath  thy  grasp,  Iberia,  died  ? 


Ode  071  the  Victories  in  the  Pyrenees,  1813.       199 

Wake,  Echo,  from  thy  sleep  of  years ! 
Pour,  long  and  loud,  that  solemn  melody  ! 
Let  it  arise  like  chanted  orison 
Toward  heaven-gate.    The  holy  work  is  done, 
Britain  hath  wiped  Iberia's  tears 
And  Ronceval  beheld  the  Christians'  victory ! 

July  30,  1813. 


0,  STAY  THEE  YET,  &c. 

O,  STAY  thee  yet,  bright  image,  stay. 
Fleet  not  so  fast  from  this  sad  heart ; 

Cheer  yet  awhile  my  weary  way, 
Nor  e'en  with  parting  life  depart. 

Let  Memory  paint  thee  as  she  will, 

Whether  all  blithe  in  childhood's  smile. 

Or  with  that  look  so  meek  and  still 

That  wayward  care  so  well  could  guile ; 

Or  languishing  like  lily  pale. 

That  waits  but  till  the  sunlight  cease, 
Then  hides  her  in  her  dewy  veil, 

And  bows  her  head,  and  sleeps  in  peace. 

Most  angel-like  !  I  trust  in  Heaven 
That  yet  some  impress  faint  of  thee 

May  to  this  wearied  heart  be  given, 
All  sad  and  earth-worn  though  it  be. 


(9,  stay  Thee  yet ^  6^c.  201 

Who  wears  so  bright  a  gem  within, 

How  should  his  heart  from  God  remove  ? 

How  can  he  change  for  toys  of  sin 
The  earnest  of  a  seraph's  love  ? 

For  well  I  guess, — and  oft  my  soul 
Holds  tearful  triumph  in  the  dream, — 

That  when  Religion's  soft  control 

Lights  me  with  pure  and  placid  beam  ; 

When  I  do  good  and  think  aright, 
At  peace  with  man,  resign'd  to  God, 

Thou  look'st  on  me  with  eyes  of  light, 
Tasting  new  joy  in  Joy's  abode. 

But  in  my  dark  and  evil  hour 

Wlien  wan  despair  mine  eyelids  seals. 

When  worldly  passions  round  me  lower, 
And  all  the  man  corruption  feels, 

Thou  turn'st  not  then  thine  eyes  below, 
Or  clouds  of  glory  beam  between, 

Lest  earthly  pangs  of  fear  or  woe 
Upon  an  angel's  brow  be  seen. 


202  O,  stay  Thee  yet ^  &>€. 

By  one  alone, — thy  sister  saint, — 
Thou  watchest  e'en  in  grief  and  ill; 

Though  on  her  couch  of  woe  she  faint, 
Thine  eye  of  joy  is  on  her  still. 

For  well  thou  know'st  her  every  tear 
Becomes  a  deathless  gem  in  heaven ; 

To  every  pang  well  suffer'd  here 
A  suffering  Saviour's  love  is  given. 

June  i6, 1814, 
The  day  of  his  sister  Sarah^s  death. 


SONNET. 

When  I  behold  yon  arch  magnificent 

Spanning  the  gorgeous  West,  the  autumnal  bed 
Where  the  great  Sun  now  hides  his  weary  head, 
With  here  and  there  a  purple  isle,  that  rent 
From  that  huge  cloud,  their  solid  continent, 
Seem  floating  in  a  sea  of  golden  light, 
A  fire  is  kindled  in  my  musing  sprite, 
And  Fancy  whispers,  such  the  glories  lent 
To  this  our  mortal  life  :  most  glowing  fair 
But  built  on  clouds,  and  melting  while  we  gaze. 
Yet  since  those  shadowy  lights  sure  witness  bear 
Of  One  not  seen,  the  undying  Sun  and  Source 
Of  good  and  fair,  who  wisely  them  surveys. 
Will   use   them   well   to   cheer  his   heavenward 
course. 

Sunday,  Oct.  20,  l8l6. 


LINES  SENT  WITH  THE  LIVES  OP  EIDLEY 
AND  CEANMEE. 

Thou,  whom  with  proud  and  happy  heart  I  call 
Mine,  first  by  birth,  but  more  by  love  unfeign'd, 
And  by  that  awful  warfare  most  of  all, 
To  which  by  holiest  vows  we  are  constrain'd, 
Brother,  behold  thy  calling  !  These  are  they, 
Who  arm'd  themselves  with  Prayer,  and  boldy  tried 
Wisdom's  untrodden  steeps,  and  won  their  way  ; 
God's  Word  their  lamp.  His  Spirit  was  their  guide. 
These  would  not  spare  their  lives  for  fear  or  ruth  j 
Therefore  their  God  was  with  them,  and  the  glare 
Of  their  death-fires  still  lights  the  land  to  Truth, 
To  shew  what  might  is  in  a  Martyr's  prayer. 
Read,  and  rejoice  ;  yet  humbly :  for  our  strife 
Is  perilous  like  theirs ;  for  Death  or  Life. 

Jan.  5,  1 817. 


AT   HOOKER'S  TOMB  p. 

The  grey-eyed  Morn  was  sadden'd  with  a  shower, 
A  silent  shower,  that  trickled  down  so  still. 
Scarce  drooped  beneath  its  weight  the  tenderest 

flower, 
Scarce  could  you  trace  it  on  the  twinkling  rill. 
Or  moss-stone  bathed  in  dew.     It  was  an  hour 
Most  meet  for  prayer  beside  thy  lowly  grave. 
Most  for  thanksgiving  meet,  that  Heaven  such  power 
To  thy  serene  and  humble  spirit  gave. 
''  Who  sow  good  seed  with  tears  shall  reap  in  joy." 
So  thought  I  as  I  watch'd  the  gracious  rain, 
And  deem'd  it  like  that  silent  sad  employ 
Whence  sprung  thy  glory's  harvest,  to  remain 
For  ever.     God  hath  sworn  to  lift  on  high 
Who  sinks  himself  by  true  humility. 

A2io.^  1817. 

P  The    original  MS.    is   on  a  half-sheet  of  foolscap  paper,  folded,  with  a 
pieee  of  dried  wall-rue  in  it,  no  doubt  gathered  on  the  spot. 


rORWAED^ 

"  The  hope  which  is  laid  up  for  you  in  heaven," — CoL  i.  5. 

The  traveller "",  when  his  time  is  short, 
Speeds,  careless  of  the  rugged  way  ; 

He  lingers  not  for  village  sport, 
He  lingers  not  for  landscape  gay. 

The  birds  his  woodland  path  beside, 

Riot  in  wildest  bliss  of  song  ; 
The  moonlight  streams  so  sweetly  guide, — 

He  dares  not  look,  or  linger  long. 

The  Christian  knows  his  time  is  short, 
But  oh  !  the  way  is  rough  and  drear  ; 

And  bowers  of  bliss  are  nigh,  to  court 
His  spirit  from  its  high  career. 


q  First  printed  in  "  Days  and  Seasons." 

r  Composed  during  a  hard  trot  on  the  Wituey  road,  on  a  Monday  morning, 
March,  1818. 


Forward.  207 

Let  him  not  swerve ;  for  storms  and  night 

The  erring  soul  have  oft  opprest : 
But  who  rides  on  is  sure  of  light 

To  guide  him  to  his  promis'd  rest. 


EAELt  VISIONS. 

Farewell,  bright  visions  of  my  lonely  hours, 
Gay  dreams  of  buoyant  hope,  a  long  farewell ! 

No  room  for  me  in  Hymen's  holy  bowers  : 
I  have  no  part  in  Love's  delightful  spell. 

Still  must  I  hold  alone  my  weary  course. 
No  tender  arm  upon  mine  arm  to  lean  ; 

No  kind  and  loving  eye,  whose  gentle  force 

From  selfish  grief  my  wayward  heart  might  wean. 

Deep  in  the  windings  of  a  bowery  dale, 

(A  spot  where  angels  might  delight  to  roam,) 

Haunt  of  each  sun-bright  hue,  each  fragrant  gale, 
Presumptuous  fancy  built  my  pastoral  home. 

And  many  a  flower  adorn'd  the  low-roof 'd  hall 
And  round  the  half-hidden  casement  cluster'd  fair. 

And  hard  beside  the  iv3^-mantled  wall, 

In  holiest  beauty  rose  the  House  of  Prayer. 


Early  Visions.  209 

The  sounds  of  rivulets  was  not  far  away, 
Of  soft  rains  rustling  on  the  dewy  eaves  ; 

Or  of  that  mimic  shower  when  west  winds  play 
At  random  in  the  trembling  poplar-leaves. 

Birds,  lambs,  and  children  made  our  vocal  quire, 
With  here  and  there  a  village  roundelay  ; — 

Such  tones  as  careless  flung  from  Nature's  lyre. 
Best  help  two  faithful  hearts  to  love  and  pray. 

No  louder  sound  might  our  sweet  rest  annoy. 
Save  that  companion  of  our  twilight  hours. 

Sobering  with  thoughts  of  heaven  our  earthly  joy. 
The  church-bell's  voice  went  round  our  quiet  bowers. 

Nor  seem'd  the  holy  invitation  vain  ; — ■ 

Duly  at  morn  and  eve  (so  spake  my  dream) 

From  rest,  or  labour  done,  a  rustic  train, 

Pursued  the  churchway  path  beside  the  stream. 


ON  A  MOiniMENT  IN  LIOHPIELD  OATHEDEAL.' 

This  cannot  be  the  sleep  of  death, 
Or  sure  it  must  be  sweet  to  die ; 

So  calm,  this  holy  roof  beneath, 
On  such  a  quiet  couch  to  lie. 

Each  gently  pressing,  gently  prest. 
To  slumber  in  each  other's  arms ; 

This  shrinking  to  her  sister's  breast. 
For  shelter  from  all  earth's  alarms, 

With  such  entire  and  perfect  trust. 
That  e'en  in  sleep  she  seems  to  say, 

"  I  shall  lie  safe,  I  know  I  must. 
My  Ellen  holds  me  night  and  day." 

•  Printed,  but  without  the  four  last  stanzas,  in  "  Church  Poetry."  1848. 


On  a  Monu?nent  in  Lichfield  Cathedral.         211 

The  other  with  maturer  grace, 

In  dawn  of  thoughtful  womanhood, 

Half  upward  turns  her  fair,  meek  face, 
As  if  an  angel  o'er  her  stood. 

As  calm  her  brow,  as  sure  her  faith, 
But  more  than  infants  use,  she  knew 

(If  right  I  guess,)  of  Life,  and  Death, 
Of  Death,  and  Resurrection  too. 

Already  now  her  ear  began 

The  depths  of  solemn  sound  to  trace; 
The  thrilling  joys  that  round  her  ran 

When  mu.-ic  fill'd  this  holy  place. 

Yon  dark  arch'd  galleries,  high  aloof. 

The  glory  and  the  mystery 
Of  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  roof. 

Already  caught  her  wondering  eye. 

And  she  would  gaze,  when  morning's  glow 
Through  yonder  gorgeous  panes  was  streaming, 

As  if  in  every  niche  below 

Saints  in  their  glory-robes  were  gleaming. 


212  On  a  Monument  in  Lichfield  Cathedral. 

To  thee,  dear  maid,  each  kindly  wile 
Was  known  that  elder  sisters  know, 

To  check  the  unseasonable  smile 

AVith  warning  hand,  and  serious  brow. 


From  dream  to  dream  with  her  to  rove, 
Like  fairy  nurse  with  hermit  child  : 

Teach  her  to  think,  to  pray,  to  love, 
Make  grief  less  bitter,  joy  less  wild ; 

These  were  thy  tasks  :  and  who  can  say, 
What  visions  high,  what  solemn  talk. 

What  flashes  of  unearthly  day. 

Might  bless  them  in  their  evening  walk  ? 

Oft  as  with  arms  and  hearts  entwined 
They  mused  aloud,  this  twilight  hour, 

What  awful  truths  high  God  hath  shrined 
In  every  star,  and  cloud,  and  flower  ! 

But  one  day,  when  the  glorious  theme 
Seem'd  but  to  mock  their  feeble  sight ; 

As  they  look'd  up  from  earth's  dark  dream 
To  worlds  where  all  is  pure  and  bright. 


On  a  Alonument  in  Lichfield  Cathedral.          213 

Strong  in  the  strength  of  infancy, 

In  httle  children's  wisdom  wise, 
They  heard  a  Voice  "  Come  home  to  Me  ; 

Yours  is  the  kingdom  of  the  skies." 


Their  home  is  won,  their  simple  faith 
Is  crown'd  :  in  peace  behold  they  lie. 

This  cannot  be  the  sleep  of  death, 
Or  sure  it  must  be  sweet  to  die. 


But  thou,  fond  man,  whose  earth-bound  eye. 

By  sorrow  dimm'd,  but  more  by  sin. 
Thus  vainly  strains  itself  to  spy 
The  purer  world  that  liv'd  their  innocent  hearts  within  j 


Back,  soldier !  to  thy  daily  strife  ! 

The  virgin  whiteness  of  thy  shield 
Is  sullied  ;  nor  till  setting  life 
Can  their  enjoyments  be  to  thee  reveal'd. 


214  On  a  Monument  in  Lichfield  Cathedral. 

Only  this  secret  take  with  thee, 

And  let  it  calm  each  murmuring  thought, 
The  blissful  rest  thou  here  dost  see, 
By  vigils  of  deep  agony  was  bought. 

And  He,  whose  Blood  the  purchase  made. 

Yet  guards  it.     Make  His  arms  thine  home. 
As  soft  a  veil  thine  eyes  shall  shade. 
To  soothe  thy  wearied  soul  as  glorious  visions  come. 

July  22,  1 819. 


AT  PENSHTJEST. 

Not  the  dark  shade  of  thy  majestic  groves, 
Not  the  rich  verdure  of  thine  oaken  bowers, 
Not  thy  fair  winding  stream  that  wanton  roves 
By  tufted  lawns,  and  sloping  banks  of  flowers  ; 
Not  e'en  those  awful  and  time-honour'd  towers. 
That  in  their  grey  old  age  yet  seem  to  sliine 
As  bright  with  glory  as  in  those  high  hours 
\Vhen  some  new  trophy  of  the  illustrious  line. 
By  high-soul'd  chiefs,  and  bards  of  strains  di\ine 
O'er  the  arch'd  portal  day  by  day  was  hung  : 
Nor  yet  that  sacred  oak,  the  undpng  shrine 
Of  Sidney's  name  by  all  the  Muses  sung, 
Have  lured  us,  Penshurst,  here  :  a  holier  shade 
Haunts   thee.     We   come  to   pray   where    Hammond 
prayed. 


HAMMOND'S  aEAVE. 

Meek,  pastoral,  quiet  souls,  whoe'er  ye  be, 
Who  love  to  ply  in  peace  your  daily  task. 
Nor  of  your  gracious  God  find  aught  to  ask, 
But  what  may  help  you  in  Eternity. 
Kind  spirits,  sooth'd  and  cheer'd  by  all  you  meet. 
Soothing  and  cheering  all  yourselves  no  less. 
Because  in  all  ye  see  ye  own  and  bless 
A  God  who  loves  you,  and  accepts  your  love : 
Would  ye  find  out  a  fitting  tomb  ?     These  firs. 
Their  sea-like  dirge  soft  whispering  day  and  night. 
Hither  your  weary  wandering  steps  invite. 
These  yew-trees'  massive  shade,  that  hardly  stirs 
On  the  grey  tomb-stones  :  all  the  still  churchyard. 
Not  mingling  with  the  haunts  of  men,  yet  seen 
From  some  few  cottage-windows  o'er  the  green, 
(As  if  just  so  much  of  the  world  it  shared. 
As  might  wake  Charity,  and  silence  Pride,) 
Come  take  your  rest  with  these,  by  holy  Hammond's 
side. 

Sept.  9,  1819. 


SPEDTG  FLOWEES/ 

The  loveliest  flowers  the  closest  cling  to  earth, 
And  they  first  feel  the  sun  ;  so  violets  blue, 
So  the  soft  star-like  primrose  drench'd  in  dew, 

The  happiest  of  Spring's  happ}^,  fragrant  birth. 

To  gentlest  touches  sweetest  tones  reply. 

Still  humbleness  with  her  low-breathed  voice 
Can  steal  o'er  man's  proud  heart,  and  win  his  choice 

From  earth  to  heaven,  with  mightier  witchery 

Than  eloquence  or  wisdom  e'er  could  own. 

Bloom  on  then  in  your  shade,  contented  bloom. 

Sweet  flowers,  nor  deem  yourselves  to  all  unknown. 

Heaven   knows   you,  by  w^hose  gales  and  dews  ye 
thrive. 

They  know,  who  one  day  for  their  alter'd  doom 

Shall  thank  you,  taught  by  you  to  abase  themselves 
and  live. 

April,  1820. 

t  First  printed  in  the  "  Casket,"  1829 


ON  THE  NOETH  EOAD. 

Yon  tower  that  gleams  against  the  blackening  east, 

Borrowing  such  haughty  radiance  of  the  sun, 

Stands  like  a  Christian  in  the  dark  cold  world. 

Confronting,  in  the  glory  Heaven  has  lent. 

The  loathsomeness  of  ill,  and  making  sin 

The  fouler  for  ils  fairness.     On  his  way 

The  traveller  pauses  with  insatiate  gaze. 

And  turns  his  back  upon  Heaven's  fountain  fire, 

To  admire  its  faint  reflection  in  man's  work. 

Vain  moralizer  !    Know'st  thou  not  thyself  ? 

Azio-,  25,  1820. 


NEWTON  OLirr,  NEAE  PLEDBOKOUGH, 

"Written  on  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Arnold's  Birthday,  ten  day? 
after  lier  Marriage. 

Blow  fresli  and  fair,  thou  cheerful  summer  breeze, 
Let  rustling  corn,  light  reeds,  and  wav}^  trees. 
Join  the  soft  swell  of  Trent's  majestic  wave. 
All  sounds  that  loudest  tell  of  Nature's  life, 
Bespeaking  mirth,  and  joy,  and  mimic  strife. 
Blend  with  a  few  low  notes  in  measure  glad  but  grave. 


And  be  the  time  when  the  last  summer  sun 
From  his  meridian  throne  has  just  begun 

To  slope  his  westering  course  ;  let  one  soft  cloud 
Mantling  around  him  pour  its  liquid  glow 
O'er  wood,  and  dale,  and  tower  and  spire  below. 
And  in  its  showery  skirts  the  horizon  blue  enshroud. 


2  20  Newton  Cliffy  7iear  Fledborough. 

So  may  the  various  view  best  answer  make 
To  thoughts  that  in  their  bosoms  are  awake, 
Who  now  on  this  sequester'd  terrace  roam, 
With  eyes  now  wandering  round  the  prospect  wide, 
Now  fondly  fix'd  where  ail  their  hearts  abide, 
On  one  dear  shelter'd  spot,  their  sacred,  happy  home. 


And  if  tliose  eyes  I  read  not  all  amiss. 
The  day  seems  richer  in  its  tearful  bliss. 

Than  even  in  its  gayest  hours  of  mirth. 
Sweet  dreams,  sweet  hopes,  sweet  recollections  rise. 
And  she  \\\io  now  is  hidden  from  their  eyes 
Seems   closer   to   their   hearts,  their  best-beloved   on 
earth. 


O,  then,  blest  tenants  of  the  sweetest  isle 
That  ever  welcom'd  with  its  soothing  smile 

Tired  wanderers   o'er   the   world's    tempestuous 
void. 
Mourn   not   though   henceforth   one  lov'd   footstej 

less. 
Your  consecrated  turf  may  duly  press. 
And  tend  your  quiet  bowers,  enjoying  and  enjoy 'd. 


Newton  Cliffy  ?iear  Fledborough.  221 

Look  how  yon  stream,  of  you  belov'd  so  well, 
Is  lovelier,  sometimes  plunging  in  his  dell, 

And  lost  in  winding  round  his  verdurous  wall. 
Than  if  to  broad  bright  sunshine  all  the  way 
He  held  his  mirror :  so  this  happy  day 
Shines  happier  through  such  tears  as  now  from   you 
may  fall. 


So,  too,  your  own  fair  garden  fairer  shev/s 
For  the  grey  tombs  that  in  its  grass  repose. 

And  solemn  arches  with  your  flowers  inwreathing, 
WTiere  round  the  church,  as  from  its  central  shrine. 
The  charm  of  love  domestic,  love  di\ine. 
O'er  every  little  leaf  by  day  and  night  is  breathing. 


Happ}-,  who  know  their  happiness  not  here  ! 

To  whom  sad  thoughts  of  time  and  change  are  dear. 

As  bearing  earnest  of  eternal  rest ; 
\Vho  at  Love's  call,  or  Death's,  contented  part. 
And  feel  Heaven's  peace  the  deeper  in  their  heart. 
Brooding  like  fondest  dove  upon  her  darling  nest. 

Aug.  21,  1820. 


BY  AN  OLD  BACHELOR  VEEY  DISCONSOLATE 
AT  PAETINC  WITH  HIS  POUE  WIVES". 

Is  it  not  sad  dear  friends  should  part 
Ere  each  has  to  the  other  shewn 
More  than  one  Httle  corner  of  a  heart  ? 
Were  it  not  better  to  abide  unknown  ? 

Nay,  but  in  this  dull,  darkling  earth 

If  more  than  transient  gleams  were  given . 
Of  full  confiding  love,  and  the  heart's  mirth, 
'Twould  surely  steal  our  spirits  frail  from 
heaven. 

Then  let  us  thankfully  forego 

What  fancy  loves  to  paint  so  bright, 
Nor  grieve  our  sweetest  solace  here  to  know, 
Like  our  last  hope,  by  faith  and  not  by  sight. 

Ano,  30,  1822, 


u  This  ami  the  foUowins?  poem  wore  addressed  to  the  daughters  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Pruen,  curate  to  the  Eev.  Stafford  Pmith,  Mr.  Keble's  godfather.  , 


TO  THE  SAME. 

Mary,  Margaret,  Anne,  Eliza, 

Silent  maidens  of  the  mill. 
Hear  a  culprit's  sad  confession, 

Whom  your  frowns  would  almost  kill. 

You  w^ere  plying  heads  and  elbows. 
Puzzling  all  your  c}^hering  wit. 

Fidgeting  in  twenty  postures. 

Polls  were  scratch'd,  and  nails  were  bit. 

I,  meantime,  ungrateful  varlet, 

Quite  forgetting  all  my  vows, 
(If  I  could,  I'd  blush  like  scarlet,) 

Was  gone  up  to  Craycombe  House. 

Now  so  sad  the  pangs  of  conscience, 

I  am  wasted,  bark  and  pith. 
Like  a  wither'd  branch  of  elder, 

(So  says  Mrs.  Stafford  Smith). 


2  24  To  the  Sajne. 

Spare  me  in  consideration 

Of  my  weak  and  nervous  state  : 

Think,  when  I  am  drown'd  in  Avon, 
Your  regret  may  come  too  late. 

I  should  spoil  my  Sunday  waistcoat, 
Oxford  lose  her  fairest  sprig, 

And  I'd  haunt,  I  do  assure  you. 
Haunt  you  in  a  doctor's  wig  ! 


THE  EOOK, 

There  was  a  young  rook,  and  he  lodged  in  a  nook 

Of  grandpapa's  tallest  elm-tree ; 
There  came  a  strong  wind,  not  at  all  to  his  mind, 

All  out  of  the  north-west  countree. 


With  a  shrill  piping  sound  this  wind  whistled  round, 
The  boughs  they  all  danced  high  and  low  ; 

Rock,  rock  went  the  nest,  where  the  birds  were  at 
rest. 
Till  over  and  over  they  go. 

Uncle  John   walking  round   saw   the  rook  on  the 
ground. 
And  smooth'd  it,  and  wish'd  to  revive  ; 
Anne,  Robert  and  Hill,  they  all  tried  their  skill 
In  vain ;  the  poor  rook  would  not  live, 
p 


2  26  The  Rook. 

And  if  in  your  fun  round  the  orchard  you  run, 

You  really  would  wonder  to  see, 
How  sticks,  moss  and   feather  are  strewed  by  the 
weather 

Beneath  each  old  racketing  tree. 

'Tis  very  bad  wind,  as  in  proverbs  we  find, 

The  wind  that  blows  nobody  good ; 
I  have  read  it  in  books  ;  yet  sure  the  young  rooks 

Would  deny  it  to-day  if  they  could. 

They  sure  would  deny,  but  they  cannot  well  try, 
Their  cawing  not  yet  have  they  learn'd ; 

And  'tis  just  as  well  not ;  for  a  fancy  I've  got, 
How  the  wind  to  some  use  may  be  turn'd. 

Do  you  see  Martha  Hunt,  how  she  bears  all  the  brunt 

Of  the  chilly,  damp,  blustering  day  '^. 
How  gladly  she  picks  all  the  littering  sticks ! 

Her  kettle  will  soon  boil  away. 

How  snug  she  will  sit  by  the  fireplace  and  knit, 
While  Daniel  her  fortune  will  praise. 

The  wind  roars  away, — "  Master  Wind,"  they  will  say, 
"  We  thank  you  for  this  pretty  blaze." 


The  Rook.  227 

Then  spite  of  the  rooks,  what  we  read  in  the  books 
Is  true,  and  the  storm  has  done  good. 

It  seems  hard,  I  own,  when  the  nests  are  o'erthrown, 
But  Daniel  and  Martha  get  wood. 


A  THOUGHT  UPON  TAXim  LEAVE  OF 
SOME  PEIEmS. 

How  varied,  how  rich,  in  the  light-curtain'd  west 
Glow  the  tints  that  the  sun's  setting  majesty  veil, 

When  through  bright  clouds  disporting  he  sinks  into 
rest. 
And  sheds  his  last  radiance  o'er  mountain  and  dale. 

But  the  soft  summer  landscape  shall  soon  fade  away, 
As  twilight  draws  o'er  it  her  mantle  of  dew ; 

The  sky  gleam  no  more  with  the  gilding  of  day. 
And  silence  and  dimness  o'ershadow  the  view. 

Yet  lingering  awhile,  the  last  remnant  of  light 

Through  the  dark  blue  expanse  shoots  a  silvery 
ray, 

And  faint  glimmering  mildly  recals  to  the  sight 

The  charms  that  late  shone  in  the  landscape  of  day. 


A  Thought  upon  taking  Leave  of  some  Fne?ids.     229 

So  fleet  the  blithe  visions  of  friendship  and  joy, 
So  fancy  the  dream  of  delight  can  restore, 

And  in  fond  recollection  again  we  descry 

Faint-imaged  those  pleasures  that  now  are  no  more. 


HYMN  rOE  THE  AIOUNOIATION  \ 
St.   Liike  xi.  27. 

Oh  !  Thou  who  deign'st  to  sympathize 
With  all  our  frail  and  fleshly  ties, 

Maker,  yet  Brother  dear. 
Forgive  the  too  presumptuous  thought. 
If,  calming  wayward  grief,  I  sought 

To  gaze  on  Thee  too  near. 

Yet  sure  'twas  not  presumption,  Lord, 
Twas  Thine  own  comfortable  word 

That  made  the  lesson  known  : 
Of  all  the  dearest  bonds  we  prove. 
Thou  countest  sons'  and  mothers'  love 

Most  sacred,  most  Thine  own. 

a  Vide  the  Preface,  p.  viii. 


Hymn  for  the  Annunciation.  231 

When  wandering  here  a  little  span, 
Thou  took'st  on  Thee  to  rescue  man, 

Thou  hadst  no  earthly  sire  : 
That  wedded  love  we  prize  so  dear. 
As  if  our  heaven  and  home  were  here. 

It  Ht  in  Thee  no  fire. 

On  no  sweet  sister's  faithful  breast 
Would'st  Thou  Thine  aching  forehead  rest, 

On  no  kind  brother  lean ; 
But  who,  O  perfect  filial  heart, 
E'er  did  like  Thee  a  true  son's  part, 

Endearing,  firm,  serene  ? 

Thou  wept'st,  meek  maiden,  mother  mild, 
Thou  wept'st  upon  thy  sinless  Child, 

Thy  very  heart  was  riven  : 
And  yet,  what  mourning  matron  here 
Would  deem  thy  sorrows  bought  too  dear 

By  all  on  this  side  heaven  ? 

A  Son  that  never  did  amiss. 
That  never  shamed  His  Mother's  kiss, 
Nor  cross'd  her  fondest  prayer  : 


232  Hy7?in  for  the  Anminciation, 

E'en  from  the  tree  He  deign'd  to  bow 
For  her  His  agonized  brow, 

Her,  His  sole  earthly  care. 

Alas  !  when  those  we  love  are  gone, 
Of  all  sad  thoughts,  'tis  only  one 

Brings  bitterness  indeed ; 
The  thought  what  poor,  cold,  heartless  aid 
We  lent  to  cheer  them  while  they  stayed  ; 

This  makes  the  conscience  bleed. 

Lord,  by  Thy  love,  and  by  Thy  power. 
And  by  the  sorrows  of  that  hour, 

Let  me  not  weep  too  late. 
Help  me  in  anguish  meet  and  true 
My  thankless  words  and  ways  to  rue, 

Now  justly  desolate. 

By  Thine  own  Mother's  first  caress. 

Whom  Thou  with  smiles  so  sweet  didst  bless, 

'Twas  heaven  on  earth  to  see  ; 
Help  me,  though  late,  to  love  aright 
Her  who  has  glided  from  my  sight. 
To  rest  (dear  Saint)  with  Thee. 


Hymn  for  the  Annunciation,  233 

Thou  knowest  if  her  gentle  glance 
Look  on  us,  as  of  old,  to  enhance 

Our  evening  calm  so  sweet : 
But,  Son  of  Mary,  Thou  art  there. 
O,  make  us  ('tis  a  mourner's  prayer) 

For  such  dear  visits  meet. 

June  T,  1823. 


rEAGMENT  ON  HIS  SISTER  MAET  AME'S  DEATH. 

Sweet  bed  of  death  !  how  oft  to  thee 
In  joy  and  woe  my  heart  shall  turn  : 

How  dearer  than  delight  to  me 
Thy  spirit-soothing  love  to  learn. 

In  thought  to  watch  that  angel-face, 
When  now  the  storm  had  pass'd  away, 

And  all  mine  anxious  eye  could  trace 
Was  only  sweetness  in  decay. 

O,  truest,  kindest,  gentlest  maid  ! 

Earth  has  no  words  so  soft  and  pure 
That  they  our  dreams  of  thee  should  aid. 

But  Heaven  will  help  them  to  endure. 

There  is  no  cloud  that  floats  on  high, 

No  violet  in  the  dewy  vale. 
But  breathes  of  thee,  and  brings  thee  nigh ; 

Thy  dear  memorials  cannot  fail. 

Sept.  20,  1826. 


HUNTSPILL  TOWEE. 

Cove  beyond  cove,  in  faint  and  fainter  line 
I  trace  the  winding  shore,  and  dream  I  hear 
The  distant  billows  where  they  break  and  shine 
On  the  dark  isles.     Around  us,  far  and  near, 
The  bright  gay  breeze  is  sweeping  cheerily, 
Chequering  the  green  moor,  like  the  summer  field 
Of  ocean,  \vith  the  shadows  of  the  sky. 
In  all  their  graceful  majesty  reveal'd, 
Now  purple-shaded,  now  in  playful  light, 
To  south  and  north  the  glorious  hills  are  seen  ; 
Where  hovering  fancy  may  at  will  alight 
By  pastoral  dingle,  or  deep  rocky  screen. 
Such  airs,  light  sallies  of  thy  cheerful  heart, 
A  living  joy,  dear  friend'',  to  all  impart. 

Ati^.  3, 1827. 


The  "dear  friend" -was  Xoel  Thomas  Ellison,  the  Rector  of  Hu  tits  pill : 
whoever  kne'n'  him  would  feel  as  most  touching  and  most  characteristic  the 
"light  sallies"  and  the  ''  living  joy  "  they  imparted. — J.  T.  C 

N 


PAIEFOED  AGAm. 

The  road-side  airs  are  sweet  that  breathe  of  home, 

When  from  their  hedge-row  nooks  the  merry  flowers 
Greet  our  return,  much  wondering  they  should  roam 

Who  might  have  stayed  within  these  pleasant  bowers. 
For  wonders  seen  by  ocean  or  by  land, 

For  treasures  won  in  some  far  orient  clime, 
No  ear  have  they,  but  leaves  by  breezes  fann'd 

Awake  them  soon,  and  showers  at  morning  prime. 
A  happy  choir ;  but  happier,  sweeter  still 

The  sounds  of  welcome  from  the  well-known  hearth, 
Where  gay,  home-loving  hearts  entwine  at  will 

The  living  garland  of  content  and  mirth. 
Green  be  the  far-off  bowers,  the  skies  benign ; 
These  only  say,  "  rest  here,  for  we  are  thine." 

SepL  I,  1827. 


TUENHTG  OUT  OF  THE  LONDON  EOAD, 
DOWN  TO  SAPPEETON. 

Tired  of  the  rude  world's  angry  din, 
Thine  ear  still  echoing  with  the  sounds 

Of  toil  and  strife,  of  gain  and  sin, 
Welcome  within  our  peaceful  bounds  ! 


Come  down  by  moonlight,  see  the  breath 
Of  slumbering  autumn  ;  how  serene 

'Tis  gathering  round  lone  copse  and  heath, 
And  o'er  the  deep  rill's  alder  screen. 


So  silent  all,  you  well  might  deem 
'Twas  midnight  on  the  verge  of  morn. 

But  for  the  smoke's  dim  silvery  wreath 
From  yon  low-nestling  cot  upborne. 
Q 


244  ^^y^  ^^^  these  are  Breezes. 

Now  shall  waft  thee  steadily 
Upward  through  the  lucid  sky, 
Like  the  deep  air  gathering 
Underneath  an  eagle's  wing. 
Then  fearless  let  the  sacred  whirlwind  bear 

Thee,  wearied  else,  where  Christlike  souls  ascend 
But  mark  : — no  gales  may  waft  thee  there. 
But  thence  were  breathed,  and  homeward  tend. 

Oct.  I  [1835.] 


I 


HOW  SHALL  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

How  shall  the  righteous  win  their  way 
In  a  dark  v;orld  of  snares,  where  they 
With  jealous  care  their  eyes  must  hide, 

Lest  mth  the  glance  the  heart  be  lured  aside  ? 

How  may  she  know,  to  mend,  her  brethren's  sin. 
Whom  grace  baptismal  guards  from  sympathy  within  ? 

Faith,  as  she  lies  on  Jesus'  breast. 
Will  humbly,  gently,  ask  how  best 
She  unentangled  may  discern 
The  wild  wood  path,  and  point  the  safe  return. 
Heaven  will  instruct  her,  with  averted  gaze 
To  stoop  and  reach  her  arm,  and  grovelling  sinners 
raise. 


k 


THEEE  HAVE  BEEN  MIGHTY  WINDS. 

There  have  been  mighty  winds  on  high, 

The  hail-clouds  fell  and  keen 
Have  marred  the  mild  autumnal  sky, 
Just  gaily  aping  Spring's  soft  eye, 
And  rent  earth's  robe  of  all  but  vernal  green. 


But  now  again  the  West  will  breathe. 

The  storms  afar  will  fleet, 
And  clouds  above,  and  woods  beneath. 
Weave,  ere  they  fade,  one  joyous  wreath, 
For  a  kind  soothing  autumn-farewell  meet. 

OcU  31, 1835. 


» 


IN  HAEMONY,  &o. 

In  Harmony,  they  say,  the  part 
Which  rules  the  strain,  and  wins  the  heart, 
Is  that  which  children  compass  best. 
Who  learns  the  lesson,  he  is  blest. 


TWO  LAMPS  APAET,  &c. 

Two  lamps  apart  may  brightly  burn. 
But  brighter  if  you  blend  their  flame  ; 

This  lesson  may  our  Churches  learn. 
And  all  who  worship  in  the  same. 


TO  E.  K.,  Jun. 


You  ask  me  for  a  song,  my  dear ; 
Born  with  no  music  in  mine  ear, 
And  harden'd  now,  and  dull'd,  I  fear, 
By  many  a  care,  and  many  a  year. 
But  never  mind !  of  music  sweet 
No  lack  is  here  the  day  to  greet ; 
Summer  and  Spring  are  both  in  tune 
To  honour  this  fourteenth  of  June. 
April  and  May,  and  June  together, 
Have  treasur'd  up  their  choicest  weather, 
Cloud,  verdure,  sunlight,  shower  and  breeze. 
And  twinkling  skies,  and  waving  trees, 
Politely  have  kept  back  their  store, 
This  happy  morn  to  grace  the  more. 
And  hark  !  what  notes  from  every  bower. 
And  whiff!  what  gales  from  every  flower. 
Sure  if  you're  not  content  with  these. 
My  little  Bess,  you're  hard  to  please. 


To  E.  K.,  Jun.  249 

But  if  to  match  this  out-door  song 
For  something  nearer  home  you  long, 
I  think  I  know  two  fairies  small, 
And  one  light  elf  will  come  at  call. 
And  whosoe'er  shall  see  them  stand 
With  you,  my  maiden,  hand  in  hand, 
Shall  own  'tis  music  even  to  see 
Eight  round  blue  eyes  so  full  of  glee. 
No  need  one  word  to  sing  or  say  j 
Your  smiles  will  be  a  song  as  gay 
As  ever  crown'd  a  wedding-day. 

June  14,  1838. 


MALVEKN  AT  A  DISTANCE. 

Soft  ridge  of  cloud  or  mountain  !  which  thou  art 
I  know  not  well ;  so  delicately  fine 
Swells  to  mine  eye  the  undulating  line, 

Where  gazing  to  and  firo,  as  loth  to  part, 

Unwearied  Fancy  plies  her  busy  part. 

To  trace  what  lurks  in  those  deep  folds  of  thine, 
Streak'd  by  the  varying  heavens  with  hues  divine. 

With  me  'tis  fancy  all ;  but  many  a  heart 
Perchance  e'en  now  perusing  thee  afar 
The  meaning  reads  of  every  spot  and  wave 
That  seems  to  stain  thee,  or  thine  outline  mar. 

Here  is  their  home,  and  here  their  father's  grave. 
Such  is  our  holy  Mount ;  all  dream  it  fair, 

Those  only  know,  whom  Faith  hath  nurtured  there. 


TEAGMENT.* 

There  sate  one  lonely  on  a  gieen  hill-side 

Watching  an  April  cloud  :  his  place  of  rest 

An  upland  meadow  with  its  mossy  slope 

Losing  itself  beneath  a  winding  copse, 

Where  willow-blossoms  glanced  in  sun  and  breeze. 

Not  noticeable  was  the  spot,  unless 

For  the  rich  world,  perchance,  of  vernal  flowers, 

That  seem'd  as  each  had  there  a  claim  by  right 

For  cradle,  home,  death-bed,  and  grave,  all  one. 

Violets,  by  hundreds  seen,  a  token  were 

Of  thousands  out  of  sight :  anemonies 

In  their  own  sweet  fresh  venturing  out,  or  e'er 

The  south- wind  blow.     Around  them,  most  like  boys 

Ronnd  timid  maidens  in  their  hour  of  play. 

The  celandine  so  bold  and  open-eyed. 

Singly,  or  in  wild  clusters,  far  and  near. 


»  I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  inserting  this  sweet  picture,  in- 
complete as  it  is.  Tlie  spot  referred  to  was  a  very  favorite  one  of  the 
Author.  It  is  the  upper  part  of  a  field  on  Ladwell  Hill,  in  the  parish  of 
Hursley,  just  under  the  "  winding  "  line  of  the  "  copse,"  in  the  direction  of 
Fieldhouse  Farm. 


252  Fragment. 

Nor  wants  there  the  soft  primrose,  wheresoe'er 
Advancing  hours  will  draw  a  veil  of  shade, 
In  her  glad  quiet  nook  musing  at  home. 

Sure  'twas  a  joyous  company  : — the  more 
For  the  bright  Easter  bells,  that  hardly  yet 
Had  ceased  to  stir  the  noontide  air.     But  he 
Who  in  the  midst  reclined,  seemed  dreaming  on 
Of  something  far  away.     Was  it  his  flock  ? 
For  souls  were  in  his  charge,  and  he  had  vowed 
His  cares,  his  visions,  one  sole  way  to  turn. — 


MAT-DAT  SONG  TOE  THE  HUESLET 
OHILDEEN. 

April's  gone,  the  king  of  showers  ; 
May  is  come,  the  queen  of  flowers ; 
Give  me  something,  gentles  dear. 
For  a  blessing  on  the  year. 
For  my  garland  give,  I  pray. 
Words  and  smiles,  of  cheerful  May : 
Birds  of  Spring  to  you  ^ve  come, 
Let  us  pick  a  little  crumb. 

May,  1840. 


MOTHEK  OUT  OP  SIGHT.'' 

Written  for  the  "Lyra  Innocentiuni." 

Saw  ye  the  bright-eyed  stately  child, 
With  sunny  locks  so  soft  and  wild, 
How  in  a  moment  round  the  room 
His  keen  eye  glanced,  then  into  gloom 
Retired,  as  they  who  suffer  wrong 
When  most  assured  they  look  and  long  ? 
Heard  ye  the  quick  appeal,  half  in  dim  fear, 
In  anger  half,  "  My  Mother  is  not  here  ! " 


Perchance  some  burthen'd  heart  was  nigh, 
To  echo  back  that  yearning  cry 
In  deeper  chords  than  may  be  known 
To  the  dull  outward  ear  alone. 

a  Vide  the  Preface,  p.  ix. 


Mother  out  of  Sight.  255 

What  if  our  English  air  be  stirred 
With  sighs  from  saintly  bosoms  heard, 
Or  penitents,  to  leaning  angels  dear, 
"  Our  own,  our  only  Mother  is  not  here." 


The  murmurings  of  that  boyish  heart 
They  hush  with  many  a  fostering  art. 
Soon  o'er  the  islands  of  the  west 
The  weary  sun  will  sink  to  rest ; 
The  rose-tints  fade,  that  gradual  now 
Are  climbing  Ben-y-veer's  green  brow, 
Soon  o'er  the  loch  the  twilight  stars  will  peer, 
Then  shalt  thou  feel  thy  soul's  desire  is  here. 


Lightly  they  soothe  the  fair,  fond  boy, 
Nor  is  there  not  a  hope  and  joy 
For  spirits  that  half-orphan'd  roam 
Forlorn  in  their  far  island  home. 
Oft,  as  in  penance  lowly  bowed. 
Prayer — like  a  gentle  evening  cloud 
Enfolds  them,  through  the  mist  they  seem  to  trace 
By  shadowy  gleams  a  royal  Mother's  face. 


256  Mother  out  of  Sight. 

The  holy  Church  is  at  their  side, 
Not  in  her  robes  a  glorious  Bride : — 
As  sister  named  of  Mercy  mild 
At  midnight  by  a  fever'd  child 
Might  watch,  and  to  the  dim  eye  seem 
A  white-stoled  angel  in  a  dream, 
Such  may  the  presence  of  the  Spouse  appear 
To  tender,  trembling  hearts,  so  faint,  so  dean 


The  babe  for  that  sweet  vision's  sake 
Courts  longer  trance,  afraid  to  wake ; 
And  we  for  love  would  fain  lie  still. 
Though  in  dim  faith,  if  so  He  will. 
And  wills  He  not  ?     Are  not  His  signs 
Around  us  oft  as  day  declines  ? 
Fails  He  to  bless  or  home,  or  choral  throng. 
Where  true  hearts  breathe  His  Mother's  evensong  ? 


Mother  of  God !     O,  not  in  vain 
We  learn'd  of  old  thy  lowly  strain. 
Fain  in  thy  shadow  would  we  rest. 
And  kneel  with  thee,  and  call  thee  blest ; 


I 


Mother'  out  of  Sight.  257 

With  thee  would  '■"  magnify  the  Lord," 

And  if  thou  art  not  here  adored, 
Yet  seek  we,  day  by  day,  the  love  and  fear 
Which  bring  thee,  with  all  saints,  near  and  more  near. 


What  glory  thou  above  hast  won, 
By  special  grace  of  thy  dear  Son, 
We  see  not  yet,  nor  dare  espy 
Thy  crowned  form  with  open  eye. 
Rather  beside  the  manger  meek 
Thee  bending  with  veiled  brow  we  seek, 
Or  where  the  angel  in  the  thrice-great  Name 
Hail'd  thee,  and  J  esus  to  thy  bosom  came. 


Yearly  since  then  with  bitterer  cry 
Man  hath  assail'd  the  Throne  on  high. 
And  sin  and  hate  more  fiercely  striven 
To  mar  the  league  'tvvixt  earth  and  heaven. 
But  the  dread  tie,  that  pardoning  hour, 
Made  fast  in  Mary's  awful  bower, 

Hath  mightier  proved  to  bind  than  we  to  break. 

None  may  that  work  undo,  that  Flesh  unmake. 

R 


258  Mother  out  of  Sight. 

Thenceforth,  whom  thousand  worlds  adore, 
He  calls  thee  Mother  evermore  \ 
Angel  nor  Saint  His  face  may  see 
Apart  from  what  He  took  of  thee. 
How  may  we  choose  but  name  thy  name 
Echoing  below  their  high  acclaim 
In  holy  Creeds  ?     Since  earthly  song  and  prayer 
Must  keep  faint  time  to  the  dread  anthem  there. 


How,  but  in  love  on  thine  own  days. 
Thou  blissful  one,  upon  thee  gaze  ? 
Nay  every  day,  each  suppliant  hour. 
Whene'er  we  kneel  in  aisle  or  bower, 
Thy  glories  we  may  greet  unblamed, 
Nor  shun  the  lay  by  seraphs  framed, 
"  Hail,  Mary,  full  of  grace  !  "     O,  welcome  sweet, 
Which  daily  in  all  lands  all  saints  repeat ! 


Fair  greeting,  with  our  matin  vows 
Paid  duly  to  the  enthroned  Spouse, 
His  Church  and  Bride,  here  and  on  high. 
Figured  in  her  deep  purity. 


Alother  out  of  Sight.  259 

Wlio,  born  of  Eve,  high  mercy  won, 

To  bear  and  nurse  the  Eternal  Son. 
O,  awful  station,  to  no  seraph  given. 
On  this  side  touching  sin,  on  the  other  heaven ! 

Therefore  as  kneeling  day  by  day 

We  to  our  Father  duteous  pray, 

So  unforbidden  may  we  speak 

An  Ave  to  Christ's  Mother  meek  : 

(As  children  with  "  good  morrow  "  come 

To  elders  in  some  happy  home  :) 
Inviting  so  the  saintly  host  above 
With  our  unworthiness  to  pray  in  love. 

To  pray  with  us,  and  gently  bear 

Our  falterings  in  the  pure  bright  air. 

But  strive  we  pure  and  bright  to  be 

In  spirit,  else  how  vain  of  thee 

Our  earnest  dreamings,  awful  Bride  ! 

Feel  we  the  sword  that  pierced  thy  side  ! 
Thy  spotless  lily  flower,  so  clear  of  hue, 
Shrinks  from  the  breath  impure,  the  tongue  untrue 

Dec.  8,  hi  Concept iojie  B.  M.  V.,  1844. 


WHEN  IS  OOMMOTIOU  I^AEEST  ? 

When  is  Communion  nearest  ? 
When  blended  anthems  dearest  ? 
Is  it  where  far  away  dim  aisles  prolong 
The  cadence  of  the  choral  song  ? 
Whose  notes  like  waves  in  ocean, 
When  all  are  heard,  yet  none, 
With  ever  upward  surging  motion 
Approach  the  Eternal  Throne  ? 
Notes  that  would  of  madness  tell. 
So  keen  they  pierce,  so  high  they  swell. 
But  for  heaven's  harmonious  spell ; 
Keen  to  the  listening  ear,  as  to  the  sight 
The  purest  wintry  star's  intolerable  light. 
Yet  mild  as  evening  gleams  just  melting  into  night. 

Or  rather  where  soft  soaring 
One  silent  heart  adoring 
Loves  o'er  the  stillness  of  the  sick  man's  room 
To  breathe  intensest  prayer's  perfume. 


W/ie?i  is  Communion  nearest  2  261 

AMiether  calm  rest  be  sealing 
The  pained  and  wearied  eyes, 
Or  in  high  blended  feeling 
Watcher  and  sufferer  rise. 
Sweet  the  sleep,  the  waking  dear 
When  the  holy  Church  is  near 
With  mother's  arms  to  hush  and  cheer. 
Seems  it  not  then  as  though  each  prayer  and  psalm. 
Came  like  one  message  more  from  that  far  world  of 
calm. 
An  earnest  of  His  love,  whose  Blood  is  healing  balm  ? 


HOLY  IS  THE  SIOK  MAN'S  EOOM. 

Holy  is  the  sick  man's  room. 
J^emper'd  air,  and  curtain'd  gloom, 
Measured  steps,  and  tones  as  mild 
As  the  breath  of  new-born  child, 
Postures  lowly,  waitings  still, 
Looks  subdued  to  duty's  will. 
Reverent,  thoughtful,  grave  and  sweet 
These  to  wait  on  Christ  are  meet. 
These  may  kneel  where  He  lies  low, 
In  His  members  suffering  woe. 
Nor  in  other  discipline 
Train  we  hearts  that  to  His  shrine 
May  unblamed  draw  near,  and  be 
With  His  favour'd  two  and  three. 
Therefore  in  its  silent  gloom 
Holy  is  the  sick  man's  room 


ST.  MAEK  xvi.  4. 

Draw  near  as  early  as  we  may, 
Grace,  like  an  angel,  goes  before. 
The  stone  is  roll'd  away, 
We  find  an  open  door. 

O,  wondrous  chain  !  where  aye  entwine 
Our  human  wills,  a  tender  thread, 
With  the  strong  will  divine. 
We  run  as  we  are  led. 

We,  did  I  say  ?  'tis  all  Thine  own ; 
Thou  in  the  dark  dost  Mary  guide. 
Thine  angel  moves  the  stone. 
Love  feels  Thee  at  her  side. 


0  LOED,  IP  EYEE,  &c. 

O  Lord,  if  ever  of  Thy  Spouse  forlorn 
Thy  mercy  heard  the  loud  and  bitter  cry, 
Then  loudest,  when  in  silent  agony 
She  pleads  her  children's  hate,  her  subjects'  scorn, 
Now  be  that  hour :  now  pride,  that  all  would  know, 
Proclaims  Thee  Saviour,  but  obeys  Thy  foe. 
Ere  love's  one  relic  crumble  quite  away. 
Ere,  as  we  scorn  to  fast,  we  cease  to  pray, 
Spare  us,  good  Lord  :  speak  out  once  more 
The  word  that  wrought  Thy  work  of  yore, 
"  Sell  all,  and  all  forsake  ;  and  trust 
The  Cross  for  treasure  :  God  is  just." 


ST.  JOHN  xiv.  1. 

"  Trust  in  God,  and  trust  in  Me." 
How  should  a  sinner  turn  to  Thee, 
Maker  of  a  world  of  glory, 
Brother  of  a  race  forlorn, 
If  questions,  fancy-bred  and  earthly-born. 
Rise  and  obscure  the  sacred  story  ? 
Thee  must  we  own  God-Man,  even  as  Thy  Sire 
Sole  fount  of  Godhead,  ere  we  turn  to  Thee  entire. 


YE  OP  NICE  TOUCH,  &c. 

Ye  of  nice  touch,  and  keen  true  eye 

To  measure  gain  and  loss,  O  say, 

Hail'd  the  bright  City  built  on  high 

No  joyful  winning  day, 
When  angel  accents  chimed  so  clear 

On  great  Augustine's  ear. 

When  from  God's  open  book 

The  holy  fire  brake  out 
And  flash'd,  and  thrill'd  at  once  in  every  nook 
Of  his  sad  soul,  consuming  fear  and  doubt. 

Each  cloud  of  earthly  care, 

And  left  heaven's  fragrance  there  ? 

Thine,  holiest  hermit,  was  the  spell ; 

(Heaven  crowning  so  thy  humble  love ;) 
Earth,  and  the  glory  of  thy  call 

Within  his  bosom  strove. 
Far  off  he  mark'd  heaven's  portal  ope  to  thee, 

And  pray'd  for  wings  as  free. 


Ye  of  7iice  Touchy  6^r.  267 

O  torch,  from  saint  to  saint 
From  age  to  age  pass'd  on, 
Still  may  we  see  thee,  when  Church  fires  grow  faint, 
Wave  bright'ning  in  some  grasp  of  gifted  holy  one. 

\_T'WO  lilies  wanting.'] 


THE  OLAEIOIT  CALLS,  &c. 

The  clarion  calls  :  away  !  to  take 

Thy  station  in  God's  host ; 
And  with  His  mitred  watchmen  wake  ; 
And  in  meek  silence  for  His  sake 
Endure  what  scornful  music  earth  can  make 

When  holy  ground  seems  lost. 


Too  well  I  read  thy  shrinking  brow  j 

A  sting  is  busy  there : 
A  fretful  conscience,  wondering  how 
Such  boldness  suits  with  broken  vow. 
Didst  thou  not  erst  before  the  Anointed  bow 

And  glad  obedience  swear  ? 


IN  OHOIES  AND   PLACES  WHERE   THEY  SING, 
HERE  rOLLOWETH  THE  ANTHEM. 

LoRDj  make  my  heart  a  place  where  angels  sing ! 

For  surely  thoughts  low-breath'd  by  Thee 
Are  angels  gliding  near  on  noiseless  wing ; 

And  where  a  home  they  see 


Swept  clean,  and  garnished  with  adoring  joy, 

They  enter  in  and  dwell. 

And  teach  that  heart  to  swell 
With  heavenly  melody,  their  own  untired  employ. 


k 


JEEEMIAH  xxiii.  23. 

Far,  far  on  other  isles, 

Where  other  stars  are  beaming, 
Where  the  bright  rose  on  Christmas  smiles, 

And  Whitsun  lights  with  frost  are  gleaming, 
Yon  kindly  Moon,  and  glorious  Sun 
Their  race,  as  here,  unwearying  run. 

What  if  all  else  be  strange  ? 

The  two  great  lights  of  heaven 
Know  neither  error,  stay,  nor  change. 

By  them  all  else  to  sight  is  given ; 
And  with  them  duly,  fresh  and  bright, 
Home  thoughts  return  both  day  and  night. 

Glory  to  our  true  Sun, 

Who  shineth  far  and  near  ; 
Who  for  His  duteous  Spouse  hath  won 

A  place  as  of  a  lunar  sphere ; 
And  by  their  light,  where'er  she  roam, 
Faith  finds  a  safe,  familiar  home. 


WHY  SEEK  WE,  SOTODINa  HIGH  AND  LOW? 

Why  seek  we,  sounding  high  and  low 
Through  heaven  and  earth,  as  though 

The  Eternal  Son  were  yet  enthroned  on  high 

In  His  first  unincarnate  Majesty  ? 

Why,  tottering  on  the  dizzy  steep, 

Gaze  down  the  lowest  deep  ? 
Find'st  thou  a  cave  so  dark  but  His  dear  might 
Hath  burst  the  bars,  and  wing'd  the  prisoner's  flight  ? 

Nay  homewards,  wandering  soul,  repair, 

The  gloom,  the  bars  are  there  : 
The  word  is  nigh,  even  in  thy  mouth  and  heart, 
Only  obey,  and  He  will  all  impart. 

A  leaf  or  spray  at  hand  may  hide 

A  landscape  fair  and  wide. 
Thy  casement  clear,  and  thou  a  reach  shalt  find 
Of  earth,  air,  sea,  quite  to  an  eagle's  mind. 


PKAGMENT. 


The  shepherd  lingers  on  the  lone  hill  side, 
In  act  to  count  his  faithful  flock  again, 

Ere  to  a  stranger's  eye  and  arm  untried 
He  3'ield  the  rod  of  his  old  pastoral  reign: 
He    turns ;    and    round    him    memories    throng 
amain. 

Thoughts  that  had  seem'd  forever  left  behind 
O'ertake  him,  e'en  as  by  some  greenwood  lane 

The  summer  flies  the  passing  traveller  find ; 
Keen,  but  not  half  so  shaqD  as  now  thrill  o'er  his  mind 

He  sees  the  things  that  might  have  been  arise. 
The  heavenly  vision  how  the  saints  adore 

Erst  slighted  by  his  cold,  unworthy  eyes, 

Then  upward  drawn  in  wrath,  and  seen  no  more. 
Now  it  returns, — too  late, — his  time  is  o'er  ; 


Fragment.  2  73 

The  moms  and  eves  are  gone  when  Heaven  bade 
pray, 
And  earth   bade  slumber,   and   he   lov'd   earth's 
lore 
Better  than  Heaven's.     What  angel  now  might  say 
How  dear  he  fain  would  buy  one  precious  week  or 
day? 


He  sees  from  things  that  are  the  veil  half-drawn, 
The  souls,  his  charge,  awaiting  their  dire  doom 
On   earth,   or    where   earth's    light    no    more   may 
dawn. 
What  if,  that  hour,    in    more   than  dreams    they 

come, 
IMarred  by  his  baseness,  by  his  sloth  bade  roam  ? 
O,  spare  him,  heavenly  chastener !  spare  his  soul 
That   bitterest   pang;  —  nay,    urge   it   close    and 
home, 
So  the  dark  Past  the  Future  may  control, 
And  blood  and  tears  be  found  to  blot  the  accusing 
scroll. 

s 


k 


274  Fragment. 

Seeks  he  the  weary  heart's  appointed  rest  ? 

Each  soothing  verse  to  him  is  stern  rebuke. 
Lo  !  a  wide  shore  that  feels  the  breezy  West, — 

He  sees  where  kneeUng  saints  with  upward  look 

Assuage  the  farewell  pang  Love  scarce  can  brook, 
With  upward  look,  and  tears  subdued  to  prayer. 

And  He  who  never  yet  true  love  forsook 
By  His  own  loved  Apostle  sealing  there 
His  presence  through  the  veil,  wafts  high  each  cloud 
of  care. 

Well  may  the  faithful  flock  hang  o'er  that  page 
In  joy  ;  but  pastors  of  no  pastoral  mood, 

Or  slumb'rers  o'er  God's  wasted  heritage  ! — 
Oft  as  they  read  "  Behold  me  pure  of  blood, 
None  have  I  left  unwarn'd,  no  breath  of  good 

Stifled  or  tainted," — hard  and  cold  the  heart 
Which  can  endure  unbroken  !  dull  and  rude 

The  spirit,  which  to  heal  such  sudden  smart, 
Flees  to  the  bUnd  world's  praise,  or  custom's  soothing 
art! 


ST.  JOHIT  V.  16,  17, 


Ye  know  not  what  ye  ask  : 
Should  he  but  once  yoUr  rude  words  hear, 

And  cease  from  His  eternal  task, 
The  heavens  would  start  asunder,  sphere  from 
sphere. 
Such  Sabbath  as  ye  bid  him  keep 
Were  to  the  world  and  you,  a  deathful  endless  sleep. 

Ye  know  not  whom  ye  seek 
With  murderous  aim,  the  Lord  of  Life. 

So  is  it  yet ;  when  foes  would  wreak 
On  His  immortal  Church  their  haughty  strife. 

What  do  they  else  but  seal  and  stay 
The  fount  of  their  own  grace.  Life's  open,  only  way  } 

March  i8. 


WHEN  m  SEE  HOUE  OP  STILL  DECAY. 

When  in  her  hour  of  still  decay, 

The  matron  Earth  to  her  worn  breast 
The  relics  of  her  Spring  array 
Folds,  ere  she  sink  in  quiet  rest ; 
Envying  her  calm,  thou  wak'st  that  hour, 
Prince  of  the  tainted  air's  rude  power  : 
And  twisting,  sweeping,  rushing,  rending. 
With  every  gentlest  motion  blending 
Of  frailest  shrub  in  greenwood  lair, 
Before  their  time  thou  lay'st  them  bare. 


E'en  so  when  Christian  souls  are  sere, 

And  fading  leaves  of  earthly  life 
Drop  one  by  one,  and  leave  all  clear 
For  a  new  Spring,  whose  buds  are  rife 
Already,  then  the  unsleeping  foe 
Watches  to  lay  that  glory  low  ; 


W/ien  ifi  her  Hotir  of  still  Decay.  277 

Some  breath  of  passion  wild  preparing, 
Pride,  hate,  desire's  untimely  glaring  ; 

And  in  a  moment  mars  our  best. 

Autumnal  wanderers,  keep  your  nest ! 

Sept.  30. 


TO  THE  LOED  OF  THE  MANOR  OP  MEEDON, 

The  Petition  of  sundiy  Life  Tenants,  or  Hereditary- 
Denizens  of  the  said  Manor. 


Humbly  shfweth, 

That  by  the  custom  of  this  clime 
Even  from  immemorial  time, 
We,  or  our  forefathers  old 
(As  in  Withering's  list  enrolled) 
Have  in  occupation  been 
Of  all  nooks  and  corners  green, 
Where  the  swelling  meadows  sweet 
With  the  wavy  woodlands  meet. 
There  we  peep  and  disappear ; 
There  in  games  to  fairies  dear 
All  the  spring-tide  hours  we  spend, 
Hiding,  seeking  without  end. 
And  sometimes  a  merry  train 
Comes  upon  us  from  the  lane. 


To  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Merdon.         279 

Every  gleaming  afternoon 
All  through  April,  May,  and  June, 
Boys  and  maidens,  birds  and  bees, 
Airy  whisperings  of  all  trees. 
With  their  music  well  supply 
All  we  need  of  sympathy. 

Now  and  then  a  graver  guest 
For  one  moment  here  will  rest, 
I-oitering  in  his  pastoral  walk. 
And  with  us  hold  kindly  talk. 
To  himself  we've  heard  him  say, 
"Thanks  that  I  may  hither  stray ; 
Worn  with  age,  and  sin,  and  care. 
Here  I  breathe  the  pure,  glad  air  : 
Here  Faith's  lesson  learn  anew 
Of  this  happy  vernal  crew. 
Here  the  fragrant  shrubs  around 
And  the  graceful,  shadowy  ground. 
And  the  village  tones  afar. 
And  the  steeple  with  its  star, 
And  the  clouds  that  gently  move 
Tune  the  heart  to  trust  and  love." 
Thus  we  fared  in  ages  past  : 
But  the  nineteenth  age  at  last 


28o  To  the  Lord  of  the  Maiior  of  Merdon. 

(As  your  suppliants  are  advised) 

Reigns,  and  we  no  more  are  prized. 

Now  a  giant,  plump  and  tall, 

Called  "High  Farming,"  stalks  o'er  all. 

Platforms,  railings,  and  straight  lines 

Are  the  charms  for  which  he  pines. 

Forms  mysterious,  ancient  hues, 

He  with  un tired  hate  pursues  ; 

And  his  cruel  word  and  will 

Is  from  every  copse-crown'd  hill, 

Every  glade  in  meadow  deep 

Us,  and  our  green  bowers  to  sweep. 

Now  our  prayer  is,  here  and  there, 
May  your  Honour  deign  to  spare 
Shady  spots  and  nooks,  where  we 
Yet  may  flourish,  safe  and  free. 
So  old  Hampshire  still  may  own 
(Charm  to  other  shires  unknown) 
Bays  and  creeks  of  grassy  lawn 
Half  beneath  his  woods  withdrawn  ; 
So  from  many  a  joyous  child. 
Many  a  sire  and  mother  mild. 
For  the  sheltering  boughs  so  sweet, 
And  the  blossoms  at  their  feet. 


I 


To  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Merdon.  281 

Thanks,  with  prayers,  shall  find  their  way. 
And  we  flowers,  if  we  could  pray. 
With  our  very  best  would  own 
Your  young  floweret  newly  blown. 

Anemone  Nemorosa,  Daffodil, 

Primula  Vulgaris,  Cowslip, 

Orchis,  Strawberry, 

Violet,  &c.,  &c.,  &c.,  innumerable  signatures. 

Ladwell  Hill,  April  3,  1851. 


TO  HIS  SISTEE  ELIZABETH. 

Saints  in  Paradise,  we  know, 
Wait  and  long  for  saints  below. 
Sure,  if  in  realms  of  joy  begun 
Earth's  pilgrims  are  remembered  one  by  one, 
If  days  and  times  are  noted  there. 
Now,  on  this  Sunday  still  and  fair. 
Dearest  Sister,  there  are  two, 
Two,  as  dear,  that  turn  toward  you. 

One  that  on  this  favour'd  day 
Down  in  happy  slumber  lay. 
O,  who  the  thoughts  may  guess  and  deem 
That  haply  mingle  with  her  angel-dream. 
When  among  graces  tasted  here 
She  counts  thy  warnings.  Sister  dear. 
Smiles  and  words,  and  ways  of  love 
Here  half-seen,  now  felt  above. 


To  his  Sister  Elizabeth.  283 

With  her  waits  by  Eden's  stream, 
Partner  of  her  blissful  dream 
A  younger  spirit,  too  pure,  too  fair 
E'en  for  love's  sake,  this  mean  earth  long  to  bear. 
She  in  her  partial  love  had  plann'd 
This  sacred  task  for  an  unworthy  hand. 
May  it  now,  till  life  shall  end, 
With  her  sweetest  memorv  blend  ! 


WEITTEN  IN  THE  ALBUM  AT  OUDDESDON 
PALACE. 

Whoe'er  from  Cuddesdon's  pastoral  shade 

Shall  seek  the  green  hill's  point,  and  gaze 
On  Oxford  in  the  "  watery  glade," 

And  seem  half-lost  in  memory's  maze. 

Much  wondering  where  his  thoughts  of  good 

Have  flown,  since  last  in  that  lone  nook  he  stood, 

But  wondering  more  untiring  Love  should  be 

So  busy  round  the  unworthiest ; — let  him  see 

There  hath  before  him  been  one  musing  e'en  as  he. 

Jan.  13,  1854. 


NUESE,  LET  ME  DRAW,  &c. 

"  Nurse,  let  me  draw  the  baby's  veil  aside, 
I  want  to  see  the  Cross  upon  her  brow." 

Nay,  maiden  dear,  that  seal  may  not  abide 
In  sight  of  mortals'  ken ;  'tis  vanish'd  now. 

"  Alas,  for  pity  !  when  the  holy  man 

Said  even  now,  *  I  sign  thee  with  the  cross,' 

What  joy  to  think  that  I  at  home  should  scan 

The  bright,  clear  lines  !  O,  sad  and  sudden  loss  !" 

Complain  not  so,  my  child  :  no  loss  is  here, 
But  endless  gain.     If  thou  wilt  open  wide 

Faith's  inward  eye,  soon  shall  to  the^appear 
What  now  by  wondering  angels  is  descried, 

Thy  Lord's  true  token,  seen  not  but  believ'd, 
And  therefore  doubly  blest.     O,  mark  it  well, 

And  be  this  rule  in  thy  young  heart  receiv'd. 
Blest,  who  content  with  Him  in  twilight  dwell. 


286  Nurse ^  let  me  draw,  Qj^c. 

Saints,  while  the  very  image  He  denied, 

Made  much  of  the  dim  shadow :  now  He  gives 

The  image.     In  adoring  faith  abide, 

As  in  spring-time  we  watch  unfolding  leaves. 

Woe  to  impatient  hands,  that  ere  its  prime 
Force  the  bud  open,  mar  the  unready  flower  : 

Woe  to  faint  hearts  that  will  not  wait  the  time, 
To  know  the  secrets  of  your  blissful  bower. 

Thy  saints,  O  Lord,  and  Thine  own  Mother  dear 
Are  round  Thee  as  a  glory-cloud  :  we  see 

The  general  glow,  not  each  in  outline  clear, 
Or  several  station:  all  are  hid  in  Thee. 

In  prayer  we  own  Thee,  Father,  at  our  side. 
Not  always  feel  or  taste  Thee  j  and  'tis  well. 

So  hour  by  hour,  courageous  faith  is  tried  ; 
So,  gladlier  will  the  morn  all  mists  dispel. 

Feb.  19,  1854. 


HYMN  POE  EASTEK-TIDE. 

Written  for  the  Book  of  Prayers,  at  Oiiddesdon  College. 


"  Also,  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  Lord,  saying,  ^Yhom  shall  I 
send,  and  who  will  go  for  us  ?  Then  said  I,  Here  I  am,  send 
me." — Isa.  vi.  8. 


Lord  of  life,  prophetic  Spirit ! 

In  sweet  measure  evermore 
To  the  holy  children  dealing 

Each  his  gift  from  Thy  rich  store ; 
Bless  Thy  family  adoring 

As  in  Israel's  schools  of  yore. 

Holy  Jesus  !     Eye  most  loving 
On  each  young  disciple  bent ; 

Voice,  that,  seeming  earthly,  summon'd 
Samuel  to  the  awful  tent; — 

Hand,  that  cast  Elijah's  mantle  ; 
Thine  be  all  Thy  grace  hath  lent ! 


2  88  Hyjnn  for  Easter-tide. 

As  to  Thine  own  seventy  scholars 
Thou  of  old  Thine  arm  didst  reach, 

Under  Thy  majestic  shadow 
Guiding  them  to  do,  and  teach, 

Till  their  hour  of  solemn  unction, 
So  be  with  us,  all  and  each. 


God,  and  Father  of  all  spirits 

Whose  dread  call  young  Joshua  knew. 
Forty  days  in  darkness  waiting 

With  Thy  servant  good  and  true  ; 
Thence  to  wage  Thy  war  descending, 

Own  us,  Lord,  Thy  champions  too. 


One  Thy  Light,  the  Temple  filling. 
Holy,  holy,  holy  Three  : 

Meanest  men,  and  brightest  angels 
Wait  alike  t]ie  word  from  Thee. 

Highest  musings,  lowliest  worship, 
Must  their  preparation  be. 


Hymn  for  Easter-tide.  289 

Now  Thou  speakest, — hear  we  trembling, 

From  the  Glory  comes  a  Voice. 
"  Who  accepts  the  Almighty's  mission  ? 

Who  will  make  Christ's  work  his  choice  ? 
Who  for  us  proclaim  to  sinners 

Turn,  believe,  endure,  rejoice  ? " 


Here  we  are.  Redeemer,  send  us ! 

But  because  Thy  work  is  fire, 
And  our  lips,  unclean  and  earthly, 

Breathe  no  breath  of  high  desire. 
Send  Thy  Seraph  from  Thine  altar 

Veiled,  but  in  his  bright  attire. 


Cause  him.  Lord,  to  fly  full  swiftly 
With  the  mystic  coal  in  hand, 

Sin-consuming,  soul- transforming, 
(Faith  and  Love  will  understand,) 

Touch  our  lips,  Thou  awful  Mercy, 
With  Thine  own  keen,  healing  brand. 

T 


290  Hymn  for  Easter-tide. 

Thou  didst  come  that  fire  to  kindle  ; 

Fain  would  we  Thy  torches  prove, 
Far  and  wide  Thy  beacons  lighting 

With  the  undying  spark  of  love. 
Only  feed  our  flame,  we  pray  Thee, 

With  Thy  breathings  from  above. 

Now  to  God,  the  soul's  Creator, 
To  His  Word  and  Wisdom  sure. 

To  His  all-enlightening  Spirit, 
Patron  of  the  frail  and  poor. 

Three  in  One,  be  praise  and  glory. 
Here,  and  while  the  heavens  endure. 

Amen. 


rOE  THE  OPEKENG  OF  THE  WEST  WITOOW  OP  THE 

HALL  OF  ST.  ANDEEW'S  COLLEGE,  BEADFIELD. 

APEIL  5,  1859. 

"  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  thou  shalt  eat  bread." 

When  Adam  his  first  Sunday  kept, 
It  dawn'd  on  work,  and  not  on  rest; 

Yet  when  he  laid  him  down  and  slept. 
No  travail  sore  his  soul  opprest ; 

Work,  easy  as  an  angel's  flight. 

Brought  slumber  as  an  infant's,  light. 

Upon  the  ground  he  casts  him  now. 
The  ground,  accursed  for  his  sake ; 

The  chill  damps  on  his  weary  brow, 
And  even  in  sleep  his  heart  will  ache. 

If  to  his  fellow-men  he  call, 

There  is  the  curse  of  Babel's  wall. 


292  For  the  Opening,  d^r. 

But  thou  the  Lord's  new  Eden  seek, 
The  garden-mount  where  olives  grow, 

There  prostrate  lies  a  Sufferer  meek, 
Go,  bathe  thee  in  His  Sweat, — and  lo  ! 

Thou,  as  at  first,  shall  rise  renewed, 

For  Jesus'  sweat  is  healing  Blood. 

Thy  work  a  blessbd  pastime  then 

Shall  prove, — thy  rest  a  sacred  song ; 

The  Babel-cries  of  scattered  men 
Attuned  to  anthems  pure  and  strong. 

The  treasures  of  King  Solomon 

For  holy  Church  redeem'd  and  won. 


t 


PRAYEES  OP  SAINTS. 

Half-hearted  men  we  creep 

Along  our  listless  way, 
And  where  we  sowed  but  yesterday, 
E'en  now  presumptuous  would  reap. 
We  stir  the  root 
And  see  no  tender  shoot ; 
Too  fine  the  work  of  grace  for  our  rude  eye. 
Then  in  proud  wrath 
Turn  on  our  homeward  path, 
Leaving  th'  untended  plant  in  the  bleak  air  to  die. 

Not  so  the  unwearied  Saints, 

Yet  shadowing  with  their  prayers 

The  fallen  land  that  erst  was  theirs  ; 
Where  they  repose  hope  never  faints. 
There,  day  or  night, 

Before  that  altar  bright 


294  Prayers  of  Saints. 

They  kneel,  if  haply  from  its  stores  benign, 
One  healing  ray 
May  dart  its  downward  way, 
In  course  unerring  towards  some  English  shrine. 


I 


EPITAPH. 

For  tlie  Tomb  of  tlie  old  Biddlecombes,  May  24,  1861. 

Lord  Jesus,  loving  hearts  and  dear 

Are  resting  in  Thy  shadow  here ; 

In  life  Thou  wast  their  hope,  and  we 

In  death  would  trust  them,  Lord,  with  Thee. 


DAET  AND  WEBEE. 

Dart.     Wild  AVeber,  wild  Weber,  why  rush  on  so  fast  ? 
Your  speed  is  so  reckless,  it  never  can  last 
Why  can't  you  glide  gently  around  the  rough 

stones, 
They'll  not  move  a  hair's  breadth  for  all  your 

loud  moans. 
Besides,    at    the    angle    which    mortals     call 

"  right " 
Head-foremost  you  charge  me ;  I  shrink  with 

affright. 
The  primroses,  open-eyed  there  on  the  brink. 
Are  watching  us  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  think. 

Weber.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Dart,  I  must  own  it  is  true ; 

But  then,  pray  consider,  I'm  younger  than  you  ; 
And  really  till  here  in  this  dingle  we  met, 
A  lesson  in  manners  I  never  did  get. 


Dart  and  Weber.  297 

Henceforth  arm-in-arm  we'll  move  on,  if  you  please, 
And  just  at  your  pace  ;  pray  be  quite  at  your  ease  \ 
But  ere  we  arrive  at  Holne  Chase,  I  foresee, 
The  echoes  will  hear  you  far  louder  than  me. 

April  29, 1863. 


HYMN 

Composed  on  the  occasion  of  tlie  Visit  of  the  British  Asso- 
ciation for  the  Promotion  of  Science,  to  be  sung  in  the 
Parish  .Church  of  St.  Nicholas,  Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 
1863. 

The  Lord  is  King ;  He  wrought  His  will 

In  heaven  above,  in  earth  below ; 
His  wonders  the  wide  ocean  fill, 

The  cavern'd  deeps  His  judgment  show. 

The  Lord  is  King ;  the  world  stands  fast : 

Nature  abides,  for  He  is  strong ; 
The  perfect  note  He  gave,  shall  last 

Till  cadence  of  her  even-song. 

The  Lord  is  King  ;  ye  worlds  rejoice  ! 

The  waves  of  power,  that  from  His  shrine 
Thrill  out  in  silence,  have  no  choice : 

They  harm  not  till  He  gives  the  sign. 


Hymn.  299 

The  Lord  is  King  j  hush,  wayward  heart ! 

Earth^s  wisdom  fails,  earth's  daring  faints. 
There  seek  Him  whence  He  ne'er  departs. 

And  own  Him  greatest  in  His  saints. 

Thou,  Lord,  art  King :  crown'd  Priests  are  we, 
To  cast  our  crowns  before  the  Throne. 

By  us  the  creature  worships  Thee, 
Yet  we  but  bring  Thee  of  Thine  own. 

To  the  great  Maker,  to  the  Son 

Himseh""  vouchsafing  to  be  made, 
To  the  good  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 

All  praise  by  all  His  works  be  paid.     Amen. 


TO  A  LITTLE  GIEL. 


Seal  of  the  Letteb. 

HuTsley  Vicarage, 
Dec.  22,  1863. 

There  was  a  kind  small  maiden,''  and  she  was  fain  to 

greet 
Her  Godpapa  and  Vicar  with  a  little  loving  treat. 
So  she  counsell'd  with  her  sisters,  and  all  the  three 

agreed, 
And  by  an  old  acquaintance,  a  letter  sent  with  speed ; 
Which,   when    the   Vicar    open'd,    he    pondcr'd   o'er 

and  o'er : 
"  The  time  I  see  is  Wednesday,  a  quarter  after  four. 


a  The  "kind  small  maiden"  of  this  little  poem  is  one  of  the  daughters 
of  Sir  W.  Heathcote,  Bart ,  the  Vicar's  god-child. 


F 


H 


To  a  Little  Girl.  301 

But  when  we're  all  assembled,  what  will  the  pastime 

be? 
No  word  is  here  to  say,  but  a  Heart    and   Crown  I 

see: — 
A  little  Heart  brimful  of  love,  a  Crown  without  a  care  : 
O,   this   is   Christmas   mirth   indeed    I'll  joyfullv   be 

there!" 


TO  MASTER  BEENAED  WILSON'S  DOG. 

Dear  Fussy, 

This  morning  so  kindly  without  any  call 

You  met  me,  and  shewed  me  the  way  to  the  Fall, 

That  I  feel  drawn  towards  you,  and  now  am  inclined 

In  confidence  strict  to  unburden  my  mind. 

I  know  I  may  trust  you,  for  e'en  if  you  bark, 

As  well  you  may,  startled,  and  seem  to  cry,  "  Hark ! " 

At  such  bad  behaviour  as  I  must  confess. 

Folks  know  not  your  language,  and  hardly  will  guess. 

Oh,  Fussy  !  a  well-bred  young  creature  like  you, 
Who   have   lived   with    the    courteous    all    your    life 

through. 
Cannot  tell  how  a  conscience  at  morning  will  ache 
If  with  thought  of  kind  letters  unanswered  it  wake. 

(Here  suppose  a  lengthy  confession.) 


To  Master  Bernard  Wilson^ s  Dog.  303 

Then  tell  Mr.  Bernard,  dear  dog,  if  you  please, 
That  the  man  whom  he  knows  of  his  error  now  sees, 
And  is  quite  fain  to  promise  in  prose  or  in  rhyme. 
That  he  never  will  do  so  again  till  next  time. 
Mr.  Bernard  will  say,  "  I  forgive  like  a  king. 
He's  free  to  lie  loitering  by  the  cool  spring ; 
And  hear  the  gay  Percie-bird  whistle  and  sing 
From  morning  to  eve,  in  his  conscience  no  sting." 

Ferniekurst,  Aug.  16,  1864. 


IJSTDEX 


Ah  !  cease,  my  friend,  that  moumfol  lay     . 

Alleluia,  s^ireetest  Anthem 

A!l  hail,  thou  messenger  of  spring:  and  love 

And  dare  I  say,  "  "Welcome  to  me  ?" 

And  dire  ye  deem  God's  ire  must  cease 

And  shrink  ye  still? — He  nearer  draws  . 

And  they  who  grudge  the  Omnipotent  His  praise 

Apri  's  gone,  the  king  of  showers 

Are  ihe  gates  sure? — is  every  holt  made  Cist? 

Away,  or  e'er  the  Lord  hreak  forth  1 


i-!9 
1 68 

74 
86 
4^ 


65 


Behold  your  armoury :  —sword  and  lightning  shaft 

Bethlehem,  above  all  cities  blest 

Blow  fresh  and  fair,  thou  ch.eeiiul  summer  breeze  . 

Born  of  God  the  Father's  bosom  . 

But  Faith  i«!  cold,  and  wilful  men  are  strong 

But  louder  yet  the  heavens  shall  ring 

But  sadder  strain5,  and  direr  bodin^s  dark  . 

By  your  I<ord's  creative  breath    . 


90 

219 
151 

4? 
78 
60 


Come,  twinkle  in  my  lonely  room     . 
Cove  beyond  cove,  in  faint  and  fainter  line 


25 

2?7 


Dark  mountains,  happy  valley,  glorious  sky- 
Draw  near  as  early  as  we  may 
Dread  glimpses,  e'en  in  gospel  times,  have  been 
Dread  "Word,  who  from  the  Father  h:;st . 
Dull  thimders  moan  around  the  Temple  Bock 


239 

263 

76 

142 

57 


Each,  mom  and  eve,  the  Golden  Keys 
E'en  now  vouchsafe.  Good  Spirit,  One 


Fain  would  we  love  Thee,  Lord :  for  Thou 
Far,  far  on  other  isles  .... 
Farewell,  bright  visions  of  my  lonely  hours 

U 


147 

220 

2C8 


3o6 


INDEX. 


Tarewell,  thou  soft  Moon,  and  ye  shadowy  gleams 
Father  and  Lord  of  our  whole  life 
Fear  not :  for  He  hath  sworn   . 
Full  many  an  eve,  and  many  a  mom 

Give  ear,  —the  Voice  rings  keen  and  true 
God's  mercy  is  in  the  pure  beam  of  Spring 
Grieve  not,  though  Mary's  birthday  pass'd  . 

Uail !  gladdening  Light,  of  His  pure  glory  poured 

Hail,  Martyr-flowers,  who  gleaming  forth    . 

Half-hearted  men  we  creep  .... 

He  spake  :  He  died  and  rose  again 

Holy  is  the  sick  man's  room 

How  can  I  leave  thee  all  unsung 

How  long  endure  this  priestly  scorn 

How  mournfully  the  lingering  rain-drops  sound 

How  shall  the  righteous  win  their  way 

How  soft,  how  silent  has  the  stream  of  time 

How  varied,  how  rich,  in  the  Ught-curtain'd  west 


If  waiting  by  the  time-crown''d  halls  . 

If,  when  across  the  autumnal  heaven 

I  love  thee  well,  thou  solitary  Cave  . 

In  Harmony,  they  say,  the  part  . 

Is  He  not  near  ? — look  up  and  see     . 

Is  it  not  sad  dear  friends  should  part 

Is  th^ro  no  sound  about  our  Altars  heard    . 

I  thought  to  meet  no  more,  so  dreaiy  seem'd 

Lo  !  from  the  Easter  Hills  the  Lord  . 

Lord  in  Thy  jN'ame  Thy  servants  plead  . 

Lord  Jesus,  loving  hearts  and  dear    . 

Lord,  lift  my  heart  to  Thee  at  morn 

Lord,  make  my  heart  a  place  where  angels  smg 

Lord  of  life,  piophetic  Spirit 

Mary,  Margaret,  Anne,  Eliza  . 

Meek,  pastoral,  quiet  souls,  whoe'er  ye  be 

My  spirit  lingers  around  that  blessed  space  . 

Nay,  ask  not  for  a  lay  of  mine 
Nay,  but  these  are  breezes  bright 


INDEX. 


307 


No  joy  of  mine  to  invite  the  thuader  down  . 
Nor  wants  there  Seraph  warnings,  morn  and  eve 
Not  the  dark  shade  of  thy  majestic  groves    . 
Now  the  stars  are  lit  in  heaven 
Nurse,  let  me  draw  the  baby's  veil  aside 

O  blessed  gem,  of  saintly,  spotless  kind 
O  God,  th'  enduring  might  of  things 
0,  hear  ye  not  the  night-wind's  roar  . 
Oh  !  surely  Scorner  is  his  name     . 
Oh  !  Thou  who  deign'st  to  sympathize 
O  Lord,  if  ever  of  Thy  Spouse  forlorn 
O,  mournful  on  our  ears  the  wild  harp  died 
One  only  "Way  to  life 
O,  stay  thee  yet,  bright  image  stay    . 
O  Sun  of  Lusitane,  are  those  thy  lays 
0  sweetly  timed,  as  e'er  was  gentlo  hand 
0  thou,  whose  dim  and  tearful  g-aze 
Our  God  in  glory  sits  on  high 

Sad  privilege  is  mine,  to  show 

Saints  in  Paradise,  we  know 

B  iw  ye  the  briglit-eyed  stately  child 

Seek  -we  some  realm  were  virgin  souls  may  pray 

Servant  of  God,  remember 

Silence,  unworthy  !  how  should  tones  like  thine 

Sing,  my  tongue,  of  glorious  warfare 

Sleep  has  refreshed  oiir  limbs  :  we  spring 

Slowly  the  gleaming  stars  retire 

Soft  ridge  of  cloud  or  mountain  !  which  thou  art 

Sons  of  our  Mother !  such  the  indignant  strain 

Strong  Ruler,  God  whose  Word  is  truth 

Sun.  Moon,  and  Stars,  one  day  contending  sought 

Sweet  bed  of  death  !  how  oft  to  thee 

Sweet  bird !  up  earliest  in  the  mom  . 

Tell  me,  ye  maidens  fair  and  wise     .  .  , 

That  by  the  custom  of  this  clime  . 

The  Ark  of  God  is  in  the  field  .  .  .  , 

The  banners  of  tb  e  King  appear    . 

The  choir  of  new  Jerusalem    .  .  .  , 

The  clarion  calls  :  away  !  to  take 

The  fire  of  Heaven  breaks  forth 


PAGli 

47 
62 

215 
19 

28s 

161 

129 
184 

72 
230 
264 
J  00 

37 
200 

154 

49 
159 
105 

48 
282 
254 

41 
136 

29 
144 
122 

96 
250 

44 
128 

2J4 

236 
3a 

196 
278 

28 
140 
138 
268 

68 


3o8 


INDEX. 


The  flood  is  round  thee,  but  thy  towers  as  yet 

The  gicy-cycd  Morn  was  sadden'd  with  a  ehower 

The  lions  prowl  around,  thy  gv:\.YC  to  guard 

The  Lord  hath  set  me  o'er  the  kings  of  earth 

The  Lord  is  King  ;  He  •svTought  His  will     . 

The  lovliest  flowers  the  closest  cling  to  earth     . 

There  have  been  mighty  winds  on  high 

There  sat  one  lonely  on  the  green  hill-side 

There  was  a  kind  small  maiden,  and  she  was  fain  to  greet 

There  was  a  young  rook,  a.id  he  lodged  in  a  nook 

The  road-side  airs  are  sweet  that  breathe  of  home  . 

These  are  the  workings  of  a  spirit  pure  . 

The  shepherd  lingers  on  the  lono  hill-side    . 

The  Star  of  day  hath  risen,  and  we  .  .  . 

The  traveller,  when  his  time  is  short 

The  twi'.ight  hoiu'  is  sweet  at  homo 

The  voice  that  breathed  o'er  Eden     .... 

They  say  I  am  no  f  iithful  swain  .... 

They  say,  '•  The  man  is  false,  and  falls  away  :" 

This  cannot  be  ihe  sleep  of  death 

This  glorious  mom,  Time's  eldest  born 

This  morning  so  kindly  without  any  call 

Thou  gentle  Moon,  so  lone  and  sweet 

Thou,  Light's  Creator,  first  and  best 

Thou,  who  in  Farleigh's  ivied  bower 

Thou,  whom  with  proud  and  happy  heart  I  call 

Tims  evermore  the  Saints'  avenging  God    . 

Tired  of  the  rude  world's  angry  din 

"  Trust  in  God,  andtust  in  Me  •'.... 

'Twas  on  the  day  when  England's  Church  of  yore 

Two  lamps  apart  may  brightly  bum  . 

Tyre  of  the  farther  "West  I  be  thou  too  wam'd    . 

Visions  of  vastness  and  of  beauty  !  long 

Voice  of  the  wise  of  old       ..... 


Watch  us  by  night,  with  one  accord  uprising 
"What  mountain-echoes  roll 
^V7len  Adnm  his  first  Sunday  kept     . 
When  Christ  to  village  comes  or  town    . 
"When  I  behold  yon  arch  magnificent 
When  in  her  hour  of  still  decay     . 


INDEX. 


309 


"WTien  is  Communion  nearest? 
"Wherefore  shrink,  and  say,  "  'TLs  vain    . 
WTioe'er  from  Cuddesdon's  pastoral  shado  . 
"Whom  blesseth  most  the  gentle  dew  of  htaven? 
Why  art  thou  sad,  my  soul,  when  all  around 
Why  seek  we,  sounding  high  and  low 
Wild  Weber,  wild  Weber,  why  rush  on  so  fast? 
Word  supreme,  before  creation 


PAG13 

,   260 

92 

,  .284 

192 

271 

,  296 

III 


Ye  know  not  what  ye  ask 

Ye  Hngering  hours  speed  on !  with  infant  haste 

Ye  of  nice  touch,  and  keen  true  eye    . 

Yes,  I  will  stamp  her  image  on  my  soul  . 

Yon  tower  that  gleams  against  the  blackening  ei 

You  ask  me  for  a  song,  my  dear   . 


27s 
188 
266 
170 
218 
248 


